Multiverse
by The Right Hand of Light
Summary: In the infinite possible realities that exist, most things stay the same—but Robin is always different. A series of one-shots exploring Chrom's relationships (platonic and otherwise) with a different version of Robin in each chapter. Chapter 15: Centuries have passed since the time of the Exalt. Meanwhile, in modern-day Ylisse, Chrom and Robin go on a road trip. Reincarnation!AU
1. Chapter 1

A/N: This story is a collection of one-shots, written when I should be studying, about different Robins in different universes. Between each chapter, the personality/appearance/gender/lives of each Robin will vary. Some may make recurring appearances, some may not. Most of these will be focused on Chrom's dynamic with each Robin.

* * *

"I have an idea," Robin said, bouncing up and down slightly.

"Great," Chrom said absently. "Don't do it again." A tiny voice in the back of his mind wondered if he had always been this sarcastic, or whether it was the result of some desperate defense mechanism against his tactician's questionable state of mind.

"No, really," Robin said, looking put out. "It's a good idea."

"That's what you said right before you led Stahl and Cordelia into a twisted suicide run straight into a pack of Risen," Chrom commented. He took a sip of his coffee as he stared at the stack of reports in front of him. Ylisstol was a beautiful city and would always hold a special place in his heart. He cherished every moment he spent in the capital and missed it sorely when he was camping under the stars with the Shepherds. At the same time, he was actually considering packing up and leaving early if it meant he would never have to fill out paperwork ever again.

Perching like a bird on the windowsill next to Chrom's desk, Robin glanced down at the report Chrom had been laboring over for the past half an hour. "You spelled 'inconvenienced' wrong in the sixth paragraph," the tactician said cheerfully, twirling a strand of white hair around one pale finger. "Remember it's I before E except after C."

Sighing inwardly, Chrom slashed a line of ink through the offending word. The leader of the Shepherds, brought so low.

"Anyway, so I was thinking," Robin continued, and Chrom heard the absent-minded drumming of fingers on stone as his tactician thought furiously. "I was thinking—Lissa and Henry would make great battle partners, wouldn't they?"

There was a ripping sound as Chrom's quill tore through parchment. "What?" he sputtered.

"'Cause Henry is great at blowing things up, right?" Robin babbled, either blissfully unaware of or deliberately ignoring Chrom's growing expression of horror. "But he's still kinda squishy. So I thought if Lissa tagged along she could heal him and make sure he didn't kick it—"

"Absolutely not," Chrom snapped. Henry was, in theory, a valuable member of the Shepherds and a powerful fighter, and Chrom was perfectly fine with that as long as Henry stayed far, far away from him _and especially his sister._

"Fine," Robin muttered. Chrom tried to fix the sprawling tear in the parchment. It was a lost cause.

"Oh!" Robin exclaimed. "What about Gaius?"

"Nonono," Chrom moaned, crumpling up the report. He'd have to write it all over again.

"Virion?"

Chrom threw the paper ball at Robin, who evaded it neatly. "No!"

Robin fell silent, frowning.

Chrom fished for a relatively uncrumpled sheet of parchment. "Kellam?" he suggested.

"Who?" Robin sounded bewildered.

"Kell–am," Chrom enunciated slowly. "Don't tell me you've forgotten about him."

"I did not," Robin sniffed. "How dare you insult me with such an egregious accusation? A good tactician always keeps tabs on every soldier in the army."

"Egregious. Big words," Chrom muttered. No, he definitely hadn't been this sarcastic in the years B.R. (before Robin).

"That could work out," Robin said, grinning suddenly. "Hey hey, you're not bad at this tactics stuff. Maybe we should swap jobs or something. Like, you be the tactician and I'll be the Exalt. I'll wear your weird cloak and tear my right sleeve off and everything!"

Despite himself, Chrom bit back at a laugh at the thought of Robin the Exalt, sitting in council meetings, presiding over ceremonies, and wreaking beautiful mayhem on the court nobles. "That'd be something," he commented.

Robin perked up. "Is that a yes?"

"In your dreams."

"Aww."

* * *

A/N: As much as I love writing Robin in a completely gender neutral way, it's really darn hard.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Chapter 2 is here! **Remember that the Robin in this one-shot is different from the Robin in the first one.**

* * *

Anger boiling in his chest, Chrom stared at the hooded figure before him. The air was frigid and the winter winds whipped around them, but Chrom had thoughts only for the cocky, satisfied sneer on Robin's face.

 _Traitor._

"You of all people," Chrom began. "I thought you were my friend."

Robin smiled a slow smile, full of cunning and sharp edges. "You're so naive, Chrom," he said. "It's amazing how easy it was to pull the wool over your eyes."

"I trusted you!" Chrom said in disbelief.

Robin laughed, a short, barking laugh. His black hair and robes rippled in the wind, a dark contrast to the white snow around him. He looked like a wraith against the sleet, forbidding and tall.

"I see our friendship meant nothing to you," Chrom said bitterly. "Betrayed by the one closest to me."

"I was closest to you," Robin said. His pale eyes flashed like chips of ice. "It made it all the more easier to carry out my plan."

Gritting his teeth, Chrom remembered how he and his troops had labored for what seemed like hours, struggling to fight their way across the battlefield—all to be thwarted when they were ambushed by a devastating downhill charge, orchestrated by Robin, Chrom's best friend. _Former best friend._

"I can't believe you'd do this," he accused.

Robin shrugged, a deliberate expression of nonchalance coming onto his face. "It certainly isn't my fault you weren't able to see through my strategies," he said indifferently.

"That does it!" Chrom snapped. "Now I'm angry!" he tore off the heavy winter cloak he wore. Frostbite was definitely a possibility, but right now Chrom valued the mobility needed to pound Robin's face in more than he valued a few toes.

"You're finished!" Robin snarled, rolling up his sleeves. He met Chrom's lunge halfway. The two fell to the snow in a howling tussle of limbs.

"Naga above and Grima below!" Frederick shrieked from the crowd of onlooking Shepherds. "It was just _a snowball fight!"_

Neither the Exalt or the tactician heard him, probably because the Exalt was preoccupied with shoving snow down the back of the tactician's coat, and the tactician was preoccupied with caking slush into the Exalt's hair.

"The two of them are wasted in the Shepherds," Virion observed. "From what we've seen, the actor's guild is missing two major talents."

"Everything I did, I did for my people!" Robin shouted as Chrom pushed him into a snow drift.

* * *

A/N: This was a bit shorter than I thought it would be, but I still kinda like it. Expect more in the near future—I have a longer chapter finished up and more in the works.

Reviews are appreciated! I'd like to know if I'm doing something right.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: A longer chapter this time. This one is not platonic.

* * *

Robin likes it when things are neat. He likes the quiet and he likes cloudy days; he likes books and his coat and black tea; and oddly enough, he likes Chrom.

"Waiting on me?" Chrom says jokingly, one night when he enters his tent and finds Robin sitting at Chrom's desk carefully poring through a large black book.

"I was not waiting on you," Robin says, turning a page. "I am in your tent because Vaike and Sully are arm wrestling in the mess tent and yelling about it, and I dislike noise. And Cordelia was teaching Stahl how to play the harp at the campfire, and he is loud but bad."

"Didn't have to choose my tent," Chrom points out.

"It was closest," Robin says shortly.

Earlier in their relationship Chrom would have taken Robin's words at face value. But months and months of working and marching alongside each other, months and months of fighting at each other's backs, had given Chrom a deep and appreciative understanding of the fastidious, azure-haired man in front of him.

"I bought you tea," Chrom offers instead of calling Robin's bluff. He holds the mug out like a peace offering. Robin glances up from his book, reaches out, and takes it with one slender hand.

"Thank you," he says, and takes a sip. Instead of refocusing on his book, he glances up at Chrom instead.

"You thought I might come here," he says. It is a statement, not a question.

 _He wants to know why I assumed he would be in my tent,_ Chrom thinks. _He wants to know if I'm okay with it, if he's overstepped his boundaries._

Aloud he says, "I guessed. Not that you're unwelcome."

Some of the tension leaves Robin's shoulders. "Your prediction was right," he says, returning to his book. "You might have the makings of a tactician." By Robin's standards, it passes as a joke.

 _He thought I didn't want him here,_ Chrom realizes. Then he thinks: _Idiot. Would I have brought you tea if I didn't want you here?_

But he doesn't say that. Instead he kicks off his boots with a sigh of relief and sinks into a chair beside Robin. He doesn't read over his shoulder (Robin hates that) but pulls out a book of his own and starts to read. Or he tries to read, but keeps on glancing up at the candlelight playing off of Robin's blue, blue eyes.

Robin's eyes are relaxed and clear now, like still pools of water. But Chrom has seen them dim like doors slamming shut, shutting out everyone around him. Chrom has seen Robin distance himself thoroughly and completely, close up and in on himself until not even Chrom can reach him. Chrom has seen Robin stare at the brand of Grima on his hand until he shudders and has to look away.

And Chrom hates it. Sometimes he wants to grab Robin by the shoulders, shake him and shout, _I know you I know you, don't be afraid I know you and I'm still here. I know that you like your tea with honey but not with milk, I know that you keep your hair trimmed so short because you hate it getting in your eyes and face, and I know that you pull away because you're afraid of the mark on your hand and the fact that you could lose yourself again one day. And it's okay, it's fine, I know all of this and much, much more and I still lo—_

But he doesn't say that. Instead he says, "you need to light more candles, you'll go blind at this rate."

And Robin scoffs and says, "You criticize me but you refuse to eat carrots because they are orange," but he lights another candle anyways.

—

This is a fact: Robin reads books. Chrom reads people.

Robin likes facts. Facts are orderly and binary. They are right or they are not. No hovering in-between.

This is a fact: Some nights, Robin dreams of a man in dark robes, wreathed in purple light, and another time, another Chrom, a Chrom who dies with lightning through his chest and forgiveness on his lips.

This is a fact: Some nights, Robin wakes panting and covered in sweat, and has to leave his tent to stand by Chrom's tent and listen to the sound of Chrom's breathing to calm himself.

—

Robin writes everything down. Names, places, events. He makes lists of them in his many battered and worn notebooks; he scrawls down stray thoughts and boxes out data in neat little grids that he draws freehand. He keeps a diary that he stubbornly refers to as a logbook, a record of all their journeys and struggles and triumphs so far.

Once, Robin had been injured by a stray arrow that had lodged itself above his sternum. Chrom had carried him away from the battlefield and back to Ylisstol, to the infirmary. Chrom had been there when Robin had woken, disoriented and confused, in an unfamiliar room to the unfamiliar faces of the healers peering down at him.

"Where am I?" Robin had gasped, eyes wild. "I don't know—I don't understand."

Chrom had to reach out and grasp his arm, and say, "You're in Ylisstol, in the capital, with me."

And only then did Robin still.

Chrom understands why Robin would be so filled with fear when faced with an unknown place upon awakening, why he insists on keeping such meticulous records.

Any leader or commander fears losing the others in their care, but for Robin there is more.

Robin fears losing himself.

—

This is a fact: there is a list, circulated quietly by the Shepherds, of the few things Robin has shown any hint of a strong reaction to. So far the list includes: 1) Asymmetry or general untidiness, which would be discouraged by a pointed cough and a raised eyebrow; 2) Pegasus rides, which had led to Robin nearly throwing up; 3) Damaging or destroying a book, which had led nothing less than a tome to the face; and 4) Harming or injuring Chrom, which had led to an actual, real scream of anger from the normally silent and unflappable tactician, and a Thoron straight through the chest of the unfortunate Plegian soldier.

—

Emmeryn's death hits both of them hard. For Chrom, it's a heart-wrenching loss and a new burden, a burden he thought he would never have to bear—the burden of a crown.

For Robin, it's a harsh reminder that he can write and plan and pontificate all he wants—victory is, and never will be, assured. Nothing is certain.

The two of them stand in an empty courtyard and try to pull themselves together. Chrom has cried until he physically can't. Robin hasn't cried at all. He hasn't cried because he doesn't know how to feel, what to say, what to do. His age as a person is only measured in months at this point, and it shows.

"I should apologize," Robin says eventually. "I have failed as a tactician."

Chrom shakes his head. "Not your fault," he mutters. "You couldn't have—I couldn't—" and he buries his head in his hands, trembling.

"Chrom," Robin tries, and stops there. He doesn't know where to go from there and a strange, coiling feeling wells up in him, makes him feel almost ill.

Chrom suddenly grabs him with shaking hands and holds him in a fierce, desperate, embrace. Robin stiffens and Chrom pulls away.

"I'm sorry," he says, "I—I know you don't like being grabbed, I should have asked—"

Robin meets Chrom's eyes and simply nods.

Chrom pulls him in again and doesn't let go for a while.

—

This is a fact: One night, after Robin pierces through Chrom's with a blade of lightning in his dreams and wakes, gasping but not crying (definitely not crying) he goes to crouch outside Chrom's tent again, reaching desperately for the certainty he craves in this uncertain world of his.

This is a fact: That night, Chrom opens the tent flap and steps outside.

 _You don't have to go through this alone,_ he says. And he gently tugs Robin inside.

And Robin lets him in.

* * *

A/N: This was fun to write. It was also my first remotely romantic work ever. Feedback would be greatly appreciated! Idk how well I did.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Well, Chapter 3 has the least reviews of any chapter so far. I assume this is a sign that some divine force disapproves of my angsty romance writing. So here's a lighter, funnier chapter.

Written from a tumblr prompt: "I lost my little sibling in IKEA and I need your help finding them AU".

* * *

"Lissa!" Chrom said loudly, trying to find a comfortable balance between high volume and social acceptability. "Lissa!? Are you there?"

Lissa was not there. Lissa wasn't dozing on a couch in the sofa section, bouncing on a bed in the mattress section, or even banging around pots and pans in the kitchen section. Lissa was gone and Chrom was hopelessly lost, surrounded by shelves and shelves of soap baskets and toilet seats."Why in the world would anyone need _so many bathroom accessories?_ " he muttered. He turned a corner and was met with a barricade of garishly colored shower curtains.

 _Emmeryn is going to kill me,_ he thought. Then he changed his mind. _No, Emmeryn won't kill me. She'll just sigh and look amused. Frederick. Frederick is going to kill me._

The thought of Death by Frederick was enough to spur Chrom into a light jog down the aisles. Frederick was technically their family's butler, and Chrom technically had the full ability to order around the older man as much as he wanted, but over the years Chrom's image of Frederick had become a mashed-up mix of father, older brother, and supreme household authority. Chrom liked him and feared him simultaneously.

Chrom reached the end of another aisle. Racks of towels stretched as far as the eye could see.

 _I'm probably going to die here,_ Chrom thought. He quickened his pace. Realistically, he knew that IKEA was probably as dangerous a place as a quiet, but large neighborhood where all the inhabitants are mildly obsessed with furniture, but if there was a way to get hurt in an IKEA, Lissa would probably find it. _Maybe by climbing a shelf and falling off._

"Oh god, finally," he groaned. The end of the bathroom section was in sight. Chrom sped up, eager to finally leave behind the realm of toilet brushes and sponges—

He crashed straight into someone rounding a corner. The person yelped, stumbled, and dropped the box they were carrying. Small, wicker, round baskets scattered all over the floor.

"Ah, no! I'm sorry!" Chrom said frantically. He dropped to the ground and rushed to pick up the baskets, which were rolling all over the floor. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry!"

"Er, it's fine," said the girl he had crashed into. Chrom could _feel_ her staring at him as he scrabbled around. Probably judging him.

"I'm sorry," he parroted dumbly, handing her the dropped baskets. "I—oh uh hi—"

Chrom clamped his mouth shut after 'hi', just in time to stop himself from saying, _you're pretty._

She stared at him, then smiled. "It's fine," she said.

 _She has a nice voice,_ Chrom thought, then he thought: _aaaaaggggh—_

 _"_ My name's Chrom," he said automatically, then mentally smacked himself. _Was that weird? Do people usually introduce themselves to IKEA workers? Probably not. Oh no._

Thankfully, the girl didn't seem to mind. "And my name's Robin," she said good-naturedly.

"Y-yeah, it says that on your name tag," he replied, gesturing at the round white pin on her shirt. _Wait, was that rude?_ "Uh, wait, sorry, no. I mean—"

"It's fine, it's fine," she said, and laughed. Chrom felt something in the general vicinity of his stomach twist uncomfortably.

 _I NEED TO STOP_ , he thought frantically.

Robin began to place the baskets on a nearby shelf. "You were running awfully fast," she commented. "In a hurry?"

Chrom started. "Ah, yes!" he said, remembering. "I'm looking for—" the anxiety returned. "—Lissa! My sister, that is," he added hastily. "She has blonde hair in pigtails and she's wearing a yellow dress, and she's about as tall as you. And she has buttons in her hair. Have you seen her?"

Robin placed the last wicker basket down and turned to glance at Chrom quizzically. "Buttons?"

"Yeah. Uh. I think they're some sort of hair accessory," Chrom said. "They're about this big." he made a circle with his pointer finger and thumb.

Robin stared at him for a second, then set the box down resolutely and turned to face him. "Well, let's find her, then," she said.

"Let's?" Chrom asked.

"You seem a bit. Um." Robin vaguely gestured at him. "Anxious? I could help."

"A bit," Chrom admitted. "Oh—and thank you!"

"No problem," she said, lowering her voice and leaning towards him. "Look, to be honest, I'm supposed to be shelving more stuff right now and I'd really rather help you than organize soap baskets. I don't even know why anybody would need so many different kinds of soap baskets."

"I know!" Chrom said excitedly. "It's ridiculous." _We are kindred spirits!_

"So," Robin said, straightening up. "Got any idea of where she might head?"

Chrom paused. Until this moment he had been more preoccupied with finding his way out of the labyrinth that was the bathroom section than thinking of where Lissa might be. _Think, Chrom, think! What does Lissa like? Not cooking or sewing or…_

"Bean bags," he said triumphantly.

"Sorry?" Robin said.

"Oh—uh, Lissa was saying a while back that she wanted a couple bean bag chairs to put in her room."

"We have some in the children's section," Robin said.

—

The children's section contained sky blue curtains printed with a large orange dragon, a blue bed canopy shaped like a circus tent, and a heart cushion with arms. It did not contain Lissa.

"That is a pretty cool canopy," Chrom admitted. For a second he entertained thoughts of buying it and attaching it to his bed. Then he thought of the look on Frederick's face whenever Chrom was being particularly undignified (childish) and banished the thought from his mind.

Robin nudged aside a pile of ladybug pillows with her foot. "The heart cushion is a bit weird," she commented. "I don't think hearts should need arms."

"Maybe it's because you can hug it and it can hug you back," Chrom theorized. "You could use it if you didn't have anyone to hug."

"That's still weird and a bit depressing," Robin said. "And before you say 'sorry' again, it's fine. Where else would your sister be?"

Chrom thought hard.

"Bedspreads?" he suggested.

—

"I have never seen so many colors in one place," Chrom said.

Robin agreed. "It's like a paint factory exploded," she said, "and most of it ended up here."

Chrom rested his hand gingerly on one of the duvet covers on display. "It's got little animals on it," he said. "Look, that weasel's wearing a sweater."

"It's an otter," Robin said.

" _Weasel._ "

"Whatever."

There was a pause.

"Do you see your sister?"

"No."

Chrom dug through his mental barrel of ideas regarding where Lissa would go in an IKEA. He was already scraping the bottom, although it hadn't been a very big barrel in the first place.

"Wait, wait no!" he said excitedly. "I remember! She might have gone off to buy a lamp."

Robin slowly turned her head toward him. "Is that a habit of hers?" she asked.

"Oh! Uh, no. I broke a couple of our lamps a few days ago." Chrom explained sheepishly.

"…is that a habit of yours?" Robin said.

—

"I like this one," Chrom said, hefting a white cylindrical lamp into the air. "Look, it has these cool little star patterns in the lampshade."

Robin glanced at the price tag. "And it can be yours for only seventy dollars!" she said cheerfully.

"…who pays _seventy dollars_ for a lamp!?"

"This one's eighty dollars," Robin said, picking up a spindly little light with a small, round bulb. "Wireless charging and everything. I've come to a conclusion, by the way."

"What is it?"

"You're _terrible_ at finding people."

"Hey now," Chrom protested, although he couldn't really think of a good counterargument. The uncomfortableness from before had disappeared, though; Robin was incredibly easy to be around.

Robin hmmed, tapping her fingers on the table absently."How long has it been since you got here?" she said.

"Uh. Two hours. At least," Chrom said, checking his watch. "Why?"

"I think I know where your sister might be," said Robin. "It's almost lunchtime."

—

"Chrooooooom," Lissa managed to say through a mouthful of meatballs, "What do you mean _I_ got lost? You were the one who wandered off!"

"I absolutely did not!" Chrom protested, trying to keep his voice down. The cafeteria was crowded and people had begun to stare at them. He hoped there wasn't anyone he knew.

"Did too!" Lissa insisted, waving her fork for emphasis. "You said you were gonna check something out—then you were gone! You disappeared!"

"He got lost," Robin said. She sounded amused.

Lissa turned towards the dark-haired girl curiously. "Hi there!" she said. "Did you have to shepherd Chrom around? Sorry my brother's a moron."

"I seem to be saying this a lot around him," Robin replied, "but it's fine."

An appraising glint appeared in Lissa's eye. "Robin, hmm? You seem nice…"

"That's enough, Lissa," Chrom said quickly.

"Party pooper," Lissa snorted.

Robin coughed. "Well," she said, "it was fun, but I can hear rows of soap baskets calling my name. I better go."

"Wait—" Chrom paused. _Is there even a way to say, 'Even though we just met over a bunch of IKEA products, I really want to spend more time with you'?_

"I would like to—I mean, I want— _agh_ —"

Lissa's eyes widened. Robin's eyes met his and she raised an eyebrow.

Chrom took a very deep breath. "Do you—do you want to, uh, hang out together? Not now, because you're busy now, but—later? In the future?"

 _I probably messed that up. Oh no._

Lissa's eyes were as wide as golf balls. The corners of Robin's mouth turned up. Chrom took that to be a positive sign and perked up slightly.

"Give me your hand," she said.

"Uh, okay," Chrom said. He held out his hand, palm up. Robin took hold of it with her own ( _her hands were quick and precise,_ he noted, _probably from stacking baskets all day)_ and wrote a series of ten neat numbers on the back of his hand.

"Don't call me too early in the mornings," she said. "I like to sleep in."

"Okay!" Chrom agreed. "That's fine, it's fine."

Robin laughed. "Copycat," she said, flashing him a quick grin. "I'll be seeing you, then, Chrom."

"Bye." Chrom said softly.

Robin smiled again, then turned and walked away, out of the cafeteria and back into the endless labyrinth of aisles and furniture.

"Wow," Lissa said in disbelief. "I can't believe you just—"

"Shush," Chrom said. It was one in the afternoon and he hadn't eaten lunch, and he was standing in the middle of an IKEA grinning like a fool, but he hadn't been this ridiculously happy in a long while.

* * *

A/N: I have never worked in retail and it probably shows. Most of the IKEA products mentioned are actual products. My opinion regarding the canopy is similar to Chrom's.

Please review! I always love hearing feedback and it really does make me really happy, even if it's just a couple lines.


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: Back again, this time with a slightly shorter chapter.

 **PSA:** If there's any of the Robins from the previous chapters that you'd like me to write more of, feel free to say so! I'd be glad to expand on any particular Robin y'all are interested in hearing more about.

* * *

"This is the best decision you've ever made," Lissa whispered to Chrom.

Chrom shifted uncomfortably in his seat. The high-backed council chairs were torture devices in their own right. He resisted the urge to slump into an un-princely slouch. "Frederick doesn't think so," he muttered out of the corner of his mouth.

Lissa glanced up. Across the room, Frederick had given up on keeping up his calm demeanor and had buried his hand in his hands as if he could erase himself from the room by pretending not to see or hear what was going on.

"You're going to get into so much trouble for bringing her," she said gleefully.

"It's too late to now," Chrom said, sneaking in a yawn and a stretch. No one was watching him right now, anyways. Everyone was watching Robin duke it out with the, er, Duke.

Duke Bradbury probably wasn't a bad person, Chrom reflected. Just kind of stuffy. And stupid. And if there was one thing he knew Robin hated, it was stuffy, stupid people telling her what to do.

It was unfair, really. Bringing Robin to the council meeting was like dumping a shark in a goldfish tank. Chaotic and disastrous for all involved, but no one was able to tear their eyes away.

"—have never been so insulted in my life!" raged Duke Bradbury. "You are not to speak to your betters with such uncouthness—"

"The only thing you're my 'better' in is flapping your mouth," Robin snapped back. "Is there actual thought going on up there when you talk, or is it just reflex?"

"House Bradbury," the Duke said, drawing himself up to an impressive height of five feet, two inches, "has served the line of the Exalt for over two hundred years—"

"Hey, is anyone listening to this?" Robin interrupted, looking pointedly around the council room. "Because I'm not."

Duke Bradbury sputtered. Half the council shifted and murmured. The other half looked frozen, too shocked to speak. When Chrom was a child, Emmeryn had adopted a fluffy orange cat she'd found in the gutter. He had seen the cat stalk and face down one of the unsuspecting mice once. The mouse had dropped its small breadcrumb and stood petrified, unable to look away from the advancing doom that was the jaws of the cat. And that was the best description Chrom could think of for the expressions on most of the nobles' faces.

"Robin is my favorite person," Lissa said, grinning.

"I thought _I_ was your favorite person," Chrom said jokingly.

"Sorry, no."

"Prince Chrom," the Duke said, turning away from Robin with a huff, "I must ask that you send this commoner away so that the _rulers_ can resume their decision-making without outside interference—"

"What an interesting insight into the ideological foundations behind Ylisse's reigning government!" Robin said. "I feel like we're getting into prime ground for a philosophical debate—tell me, what are your thoughts on democracy?"

Chrom hastily tried to disguise his startled laugh as a throat-clearing cough. Judging by the glare Frederick sent him, he hadn't fooled anyone.

"I have invited Robin into this meeting as my tactician," he responded. "I believe that Robin has proven herself to be a skilled and valuable member of the Shepherds and as such she deserves a role in the—ah—decision-making process."

Duke Bradbury looked slightly abashed. Chrom must have sounded appropriately resolute and commanding. He wondered what the Duke would have thought had he known that deep down, all Chrom was doing was fighting the extreme urge to snicker like a child.

"But—but," the Duke stammered. "Milord! I must insist on the departure of—"

"You want to leave? Oh, but don't go, we were going to have a rousing discussion about democracy!" Robin cut in, grinning her wildest grin, eyes gleaming.

Lissa snorted and covered her mouth with her hand. Chrom felt vaguely sorry for the unsettled Duke Bradbury, although he felt more sorry for Frederick, who seemed to be in the throes of a mild breakdown.

One of the other nobles, sitting beside Bradbury, cleared his throat. "My prince," he said, "I must agree with Duke Bradbury on this matter—"

"Ah, another one for the bureaucrats!" Robin said with mock interest, whirling around to turn on him like wolf. "What is it you people have against a more democratic form of rule? I don't understand."

The nobleman's eyes bulged like goldfish eyes. Chrom saw a duchess beside him quickly pinch herself, then look disappointed when she did not wake from the never-ending nightmare that was Robin.

"I think we should take a break, everyone," Chrom said quickly, standing up. "I'll be on the balcony if any of you need me." He pushed back his hair hurriedly and strode to the double glass doors that led to the balcony. He flung them open, walked out into the open air, and checked carefully to see if the doors were shut.

Then he leaned over the edge and howled with laughter.

The doors swung open. Robin slid out onto the balcony to join him.

"I think I'm making a positive impression," she said cheerfully. "Definitely."

"Oh yes," Chrom gasped. "Definitely." he exhaled and inhaled deeply, trying to stop himself from giggling. Future exalts did not giggle.

Robin watched him with one raised eyebrow.

"So," she said, "what are _your_ thoughts on a democratic government?"

Chrom remembered the frozen expressions of the council nobles and burst into laughter all over again.

* * *

A/N: Robin is a weapon of mass destruction and should be used responsibly.

Please review! I can't express how happy some feedback makes me, even if it's just to say you liked the story/chapter.

Answers to anonymous reviews:

Guest: Thank you for your review, and I'm glad you liked each Robin! That was really my goal when writing this series—I wanted to explore how different each version of Robin could be, while still making each one interesting/likable.

Cats: Haha, glad you liked my terrible angsty romance. Yeah, when I thought of this chapter, Robin happened to be M!Robin. Robin's gender doesn't really matter to me when shipping him/her with Chrom.


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: As requested, **t** **he Robin in this chapter is the same Robin as the one in chapter 2.**

As always, reviews are appreciated!

* * *

Robin dropped his sword, one hand clasping his side. "Oh," he said, eyes widening. "Oh."

Chrom cursed under his breath and decapitated a Risen with one swing. "Robin! Hang on, we're almost done here!" Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the dark-haired tactician slowly sink to the ground. "Damn! Lissa—we're gonna need you, Lissa!"

The Risen were being routed or fleeing before the combined might of Chrom's Shepherds. The battle was ending. The only question now was whether it would end quick enough for Chrom to get to his tactician.

"Chrom!" Lissa hurried over, ducking under the slash of a pursuing Risen. The Risen hissed and lunged after her, then stopped as Chrom stepped in and put his sword through its face.

"Here!" Chrom said, as they rushed over to their fallen friend's side. "Robin, we're here." he reached out and patted Robin's arm gently.

"Put pressure on the wound, Chrom," Lissa hissed. Chrom complied hastily.

"I'm sorry," Robin whispered, coughing.

"Stop talking," Chrom said, pressing down on the cut at Robin's side. Lissa's staff began to glow.

Robin grinned weakly up at his best friend. "We made a pretty good team, don't we?" he said, sounding dazed. "We had our fun."

"What did I say about talking?" Chrom said.

"I guess this isn't a bad way to go." Robin continued anyways. "In the service of something greater than yourself. If I manage to make a change that goes on beyond me, it's like I never died…"

"It's okay, Robin. You're going to be okay."

Robin smiled. "Kind till the end," he murmured. "Thank you for everything. I won't forget."

"No, I, uh, actually think you're going to be okay. Look, it's stopped bleeding."

Robin lifted his head up and glanced down at his side. "Huh," he said. "Okay then."

Chrom groaned and rose to his feet. The battle was over. The Shepherds milled about on the battlefield, regrouping. A few of them had wandered over to observe the one-person show that was Robin.

"I swear," Chrom said, "if you act like this every time you get injured we won't actually be able to tell when you're _actually_ dying."

"What do you expect from a guy who wails about pneumonia every time it rains?" Lissa snorted. "You're welcome, by the way," she said to Robin.

Robin grinned loopily and attempted to get up. He toppled over almost instantly. "The world is spinning before me," he said loudly. "I've lost so much blood."

"I'm not carrying you, Robin," Chrom said.

"Darn."

—

The Plegians had struck in the middle of the night. Taken by surprise, the Shepherds had scattered and fought back. It was by no means an ideal scenario, Chrom thought, but scattered was better than dead at least. Although judging by how hopelessly _lost_ Chrom and Robin were, at least one of them was probably going to die out here anyways.

"This is not good," Chrom said out loud. Robin grunted in agreement. "This is really bad." Chrom repeated. "It's dark and we're lost. Neither of us are exactly navigational geniuses." he laughed shakily. "You need to ask directions to your own tent, for Naga's sake!"

"I was new," Robin muttered. "Didn't know my way around."

"This was last week," Chrom retorted, running his hand through his hair in frustration. "We shouldn't wait around here. We should try and walk back. Are you hurt? Can you walk?"

"I'm okay," Robin said quietly. "It's not much."

"Alright, if you're sure," Chrom said, stepping past him. Then he stopped.

"Robin," he said slowly, "are you _sure_ you're okay?" he turned around.

The clouds drifted away from the moon. Soft silver light poured down from the night sky, illuminating Robin's pale face. He clutched at his chest, then loosened his grip and dropped his hand to the side. The fabric of his coat was darkened with a rapidly growing patch of blood.

"Shit. Shit!" Chrom said, lunging forward to catch Robin before he fell. Chrom's gloves came away streaked with blood. "Damn it, Robin, this better not be another joke!"

Robin just leaned against him, shivering. His breathing sounded fast but shallow. Chrom knew enough about first aid to know that it definitely wasn't normal or good. Cursing, he tore off his cloak with one hand and pressed it to the gaping slash in Robin's chest. "I should have known," he hissed. "You weren't talking! I thought it was weird that you weren't talking! Because you were too busy _bleeding_ , for Naga's sake!"

The white fabric was already dyed deep red. Gods, there was so much blood. Chrom hadn't seen anybody lose this amount of blood so quickly, at least anyone who had managed to live—

"This is not a funny joke," Chrom said heatedly. "This is the opposite of funny. Hey—" his breath caught in his throat as Robin's legs gave out. "Hey, don't—"

Robin coughed, a wet, hacking sound. His eyes slowly slid shut.

Without thinking, Chrom smacked him across the face. Robin's eyes shot open and he stared up at Chrom with a dazed, bewildered expression.

"Sorry, but you have to stay awake," Chrom said. Maybe he shouldn't have hit Robin. His eyes looked out of focus and his breathing was getting weaker—

"Oh damn it, damn it!" he whispered shakily.

Voices could be heard in the distance, carrying on the wind. Chrom's head jerked up.

"Robin? Robin!" he said. "I hear the others. It's going to be fine. Just hold on, damn you, hold on. Hey, talk to me. Say something. Anything!"

Robin shuddered. He looked at Chrom and opened his mouth but no words came out, and Robin was gasping for breath and then—

* * *

A/N: Hi Pandora'sDarkDreamer. I just realized that this probably wasn't what you had in mind when you requested more amusing dramaqueen!Robin shenanigans. I'm sorry. Please still like me.

Also thank you to all my anonymous reviewers! To reviewer 'I got no name', I'll schedule another Modern AU for a future chapter.


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: The longest chapter yet.

Thank you for reading! Reviews are appreciated, they make me very happy.

* * *

It started, surprisingly, with Panne.

"Good morning, Panne," Robin greeted as she entered the mess tent.

Panne flicked an ear. "Greetings to you, manspawn."

Robin hummed in acknowledgement. "Coffee?" she said, glancing at her taguel friend with a mug in one hand and a coffeepot in the other. The mug was plain white but had a cartoonish painting of Chrom's face on it, with the slogan: 'DO IT FOR CHROM' in proud black letters beneath.

Lissa had commissioned the mug for Chrom's birthday. She'd thought it was hilarious. Chrom had a different opinion.

"The taguel do not normally consume 'kaw-fee'," Panne said. "However, I would not be against a cup of this beverage."

Robin grinned as she sat down and filled the mug with steaming dark brown liquid. A few drops splashed out the rim and dribbled down the side.

"Ah, sorry, Chrom," Robin said jokingly as she wiped the coffee off of Chrom's visage. The drawing was recognizable enough, but Robin personally thought it was a poor imitation compared to the real thing, which was very nice especially when he blushed, just like he had when he'd been—

"Nonononono," Robin moaned. No, she was not going to think about this, she'd promised herself she wouldn't think about this. She slammed her head on the table. "OhhhHH—aaRRE you GOING to SCAR-BOR-ROUGH FAIRRRRR—"

"Is it a common human ritual to suddenly burst out in song?" Panne inquired.

"—huh? Oh! No, sorry," Robin said. "I started singing because I was trying to stop thinking about something—something I'd seen—"

Scarborough Fair was suddenly back at full volume inside Robin's head. "Nggggggh," she said, burying her head in her hands.

Panne observed her with one critical eyebrow raised. She took a sip of her coffee. "If you do not mind," she said, "I would like to ask another question about human behavior."

Blinking, Robin emerged from the depths of her sleeves. "Fire away," she said.

"Very well," said Panne. "Is the blue-haired manspawn's courtship of you typical of the average human romantic relationship?"

Robin spat out her coffee. "Mfffff— _what?_ "

"I have observed that he has intentions to claim you as his mate," Panne continued blithely. "However, I fail to see how he is able to do so if the act of speaking to you makes him anxious enough to turn fully red and stutter until—"

"Stop! Stop! Hold the horses!" Robin said, waving her arms and flapping her long sleeves about. "Uh—why do you even think this at all?"

"I have observed," repeated Panne. "His heart beats faster when you are nearby, and his breathing quickens when you speak to him."

 _Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme,_ Robin thought desperately.

"You're wrong," she said. "Chrom doesn't—I don't—look, it wouldn't work out. There's nothing besides friendship between us. Good old platonic friendship!"

Panne stared at her. Robin could almost read the critical thoughts darting through her head. "I don't understand," the taguel said finally. "The society of man is far too complicated for my taste. Had you been taguel, you two would be bonded and mated already."

"GOODBYE," Robin shouted as she bolted out of the tent as fast as she could. As the tent flap swung shut behind her she thought she heard a faint chuckle, but she dismissed it as a product of her rapidly fragmenting sanity. She couldn't imagine Panne laughing over something like this.

"Remember me to one who lives there," she half-sung, half-whispered to distract herself, then stopped.

 _He once was a true love of mine._

"Dammit!" Robin said loudly, kicking a tree stump. "Ow! _Damn iit!_ "

—

"So, you and my brother, huh?"

"Gods dammit!" Robin said, tearing the parchment with her quill by mistake. She had been taking stock of their weapon stores when she had been ambushed by a cunning and dangerous adversary—Lissa.

"I heard you and Panne talking in the mess tent," Lissa said, idly leaning on one of the spears. "Okay, I mean—I'm kinda glad! You're nice and cool. You'd make a better sister-in-law than, I dunno, one of those court ladies who's always following him around—"

"I _said_ it was platonic!" Robin groaned.

"Yeah, right," Lissa snorted. "I must be imagining everything between you two then—all the hugs and blushes and whispering together at night—"

"Exactly" Robin said, staring at her list in determined concentration. They'd need to restock on arrows soon. "You know how crazy your imagination can be."

Lissa paused, staring at her curiously. "What is it?" she said.

"What is what?" Robin replied grumpily, circling 'arrows' on her list.

"Why don't you like my brother?" Lissa asked bluntly. "Is he, like, dumb or something?"

"What?" Robin said, dropping her quill. "No!"

"Is he inexcusably ugly?"

Robin flashed back to the memory of a blushing, dripping wet, _naked_ Chrom and flushed. "N-no!"

"Is he mean?" Lissa reared back in triumph. "I knew it. He's a complete jerk, isn't he?:

"No!" Robin protested. _What in the world is happening to this conversation?_ "No! The opposite! He's kind and noble and—"

 _Oh._

Lissa wore the smug smile of a cat that had broken into a barrel of cream.

"I get it," she sang cheerfully.

 _Was I just_ _outwitted?_ "Lissa, don't—"

"I won't tell him, don't worry!" Lissa said, skipping out of the tent. Halfway out she paused and looked back. "You have to tell him yourself!"

 _I can't believe it,_ Robin thought in disbelief as Lissa left, humming. _I can't believe—I'm the tactician, for Naga's sake! Come on!_

—

After thinking it over calmly and rationally, Robin decided that it would be better for all involved if she avoided Chrom entirely for the next few days.

It wasn't hard to do. Robin was busy enough that she had plenty of excuses to make whenever Chrom approached, and she had taken to hanging around Cordelia who acted as a warning beacon of sorts whenever the blue-haired prince drew near.

"M-my lord Chrom!" Cordelia gasped, eyes widening comically.

"Whoops, better go," Robin muttered as she rose from the table where they were sitting. As she left she pretended not to hear Chrom call her name.

As she left the barracks into the open air she let out a sigh of relief. Then came a nagging sense of guilt. Chrom had sounded so confused...

"No, no, no," she muttered. "Platonic, purely platonic. You said so yourself, Robin old girl."

"Speaking to oneself is often a sign of schizophrenia or a similar disorder," a voice said behind her. "Have you been sleeping adequately and maintaining your mental fortitude?"

"Hello, Miriel," Robin said without turning around.

Miriel overtook her as she strode towards her tent and the two of them walked side by side.

"I would like to speak with you regarding the efficiency of this army's operations," Miriel said, adjusting her glasses.

"Is there a problem?" Robin said, momentarily concerned. _Is there something going on in the army that I don't know about?_

"Of sorts," Miriel said. "I have noted that when communication between yourself and Chrom decreases, the two of you grow distracted and absent-minded, which decreases the speed at which our army carries out its actions by approximately 15%."

 _Oh Naga above save me. Not again._

"15%, you say?" Robin asked absently, eyes darting as she quickly tried to figure out a plan of escape.

"I have concluded," Miriel droned, "that the most rapid way to restore efficiency to the Shepherds is for you to resume your relationship with Chrom—"

"Look! It's Lon'qu!" Robin yelped, pointing at the Feroxi swordsman passing by. "Don't you want to go experiment on him? See if he's still freaked out if he, uh, gets close to Panne! Since she's a taguel, right?"

An uncanny glint came into Miriel's eyes. "Fascinating," she said, adjusting her glasses. "Perhaps the taguel aspect would alleviate the worst symptoms of the gynophobia. However, Panne is still humanoid and female in appearance, which would…"

Robin tuned out the rest and began to sneak away.

"Unhand me, woman!" Lon'qu yelled as Miriel strode towards him and clutched his arm.

"We must locate Panne," Miriel said. "This will be a productive study."

"Sorry, Lon'qu," Robin muttered as she made her escape. She momentarily felt sorry for Panne, then remembered what the taguel had done earlier and realized she was decidedly not sorry.

—

Someone tapped, politely but firmly, on the wall of Robin's tent.

Robin stopped writing and looked up from her desk. She was in the midst of an intense survey of the surrounding geography to prepare for the next few days' march, and definitely hadn't holed herself up in a pile of work so she wouldn't think about Chrom. "Come in," she said.

Maribelle entered the tent, sniffing slightly at the piles of books, scrolls, and various articles of clothing strewn about Robin's desk. Organized, Robin was not.

"Maribelle!" Robin said, rising from her desk. She rather liked the prim but good-hearted noblewoman, even if Maribelle hadn't had the highest opinion of her when they met. "Sit!" she said, pushing a chair forward. "I can make tea."

Maribelle nudged a wall of books aside with her parasol and settled carefully into the chair. "Don't let the water cool this time," she directed.

"Sure, sure," Robin said good-naturedly as she managed to find the kettle under an old cloak on the floor. A good cup of mulberry tea and a nice chat with Maribelle, that's what Robin needed to keep her mind off of—

"I have come to speak with you about the nature of your relationship with Lord Chrom," Maribelle said.

Robin's smile froze. "Sorry, what?"

 _Parsley, sage,_ she sang mentally, and then she remembered the ending of the song and thought, _damn it!_

Maribelle arranged her hands neatly on her lap. "There has been talk around the barracks," she said, "of your friendship with Lord Chrom developing into—ah—something more than platonic, shall we say—"

"Let's talk about something else," Robin said quickly.

"I am certain that you are aware of the importance of your relationship—"

"Uh, look, I—"

"—with Lord Chrom, so I and the rest of the Shepherds believe—"

" _Maribelle!_ " Robin said loudly, throwing the kettle down with a clang. "I get it! I know what you're going to say. Chrom's a prince, I'm his Plegian tactician, there's no way it could work out, Chrom needs to marry a nice noblewoman who will please the court and bear him lots of heirs—blah, blah blah. I know that there can't ever be anything between us, so can we _please_ talk about something else?" she heard her voice shake at the end and swallowed hard to steel herself. She wouldn't let herself be affected by this. No way. Robin was better than this.

Maribelle coughed. "As I was saying before I was interrupted," she said primly, "While I cannot say there would be no difficulty in obtaining the approval of the court, I personally, and most of the other Shepherds, would hold no objection should you desire to begin a relationship with Lord Chrom not as tactician and commander, but woman and man."

"Oh."

"Lord Chrom's mother, I believe, wanted him to marry for love. Emmeryn as well."

"Oh."

"Judging by the closeness between the two of you, I believe that _that_ particular aspect is solved."

"Uh."

"Close your mouth. You'll catch flies."

—

"Robin."

Robin froze in the middle of turning a page. "No one's home," she said.

"Robin." Chrom said again. He sounded tired.

Robin stared at her book, wondering if she could bury herself in the ground and never come out. "Come in," she said when it became too awkward to hold her silence any longer.

Chrom opened the tent flap and stepped in. The candlelight cast flickering shadows over his ruffled hair and face. He stared at her with a weary expression.

"If you have a problem with being around me," he said with great effort, "I'd appreciate it if you didn't let it affect the rest of the Shepherds."

 _Oh._

"I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable somehow," Chrom continued slowly. "If you want me to leave you alone in the future—"

"No! No, no, no!" Robin said, waving her hands frantically. "I don't have a problem with you! Not at all!"

Chrom watched her warily. "Then why—"

Robin cut him off. "Look. I know you like me. I mean, _like_ me. The kind of liking that is not platonic. And—and I'm okay with that! I'm more than okay with that! But—" she stopped.

"But?" Chrom said quietly.

Robin let her head droop. "I'm scared, okay?" she confessed with a sigh.

She heard a scraping noise as Chrom pulled up a chair and sat beside her. "Of?" he questioned.

"Of—of being in a relationship," Robin said. She drew in a breath and let it out. "Look—I'm not the most, uh, collected person. In case you hadn't noticed, I'm a bit—okay, I'm a little, uh—"

"Awkward?" Chrom finished.

Robin stared at him. He flushed.

"That was a bit rude, wasn't it," he mumbled. "There you go. So am I."

"It's more than just being awkward for me, though," Robin burst out. "I—I don't have any memories, Chrom. I don't know who I am. And I might not know a lot about relationships but I'm pretty sure that's not a good basis for one."

Chrom lowered his eyes.

"And, uh, you're kind of the crown prince of Ylisse," Robin went on. It's like a switch had been thrown and all her worries and thoughts were tumbling out. "You can't get married to someone you literally found in a field with the mark of Grima on their hand. I just—I don't know if it's a good idea right now. I don't even know who I _am_ , Chrom!" she finished, breathing heavily.

Chrom lifted his gaze up. Robin met his eyes and noticed how shockingly blue they were. It was like a punch to the stomach.

"You might not know who you are," Chrom murmured, "but I know who you are."

Robin's breath caught in her throat. "Then tell me," she whispered.

"You're my tactician," Chrom said. "You're a Shepherd of Ylisse. You're a bit awkward, you talk before you think, and sometimes you run away from problems instead of facing them."

"Hey," Robin protested weakly. _Not that he isn't right._

"But you're also brave, and intelligent," Chrom continued. "And strong. Sometimes I think you're stronger than I am. I—I feel comfortable around you—I never have to pretend to be more than I am. You're a good person and my best friend, and I'd—I'd like you to be more than that. But if that's not possible, then I'd also be happy with your friendship."

 _Oh—_

Robin swallowed. There was a burning sensation in her chest and yet she wanted to run out into the woods and field and shout out into the stars. _I'm a Shepherd of Ylisse. I'm a tactician. I'm a good person._

 _I'm Chrom's best friend._

 _Maybe more,_ she thought. But no. Not yet. There were larger things at hand. There was a war going on. Both of them needed to fight now more than ever. And Robin still needed time to sit down and have a good think about who she was.

"This is a lot," she said eventually.

"I know it's sudden," Chrom said. "I'm sorry."

Robin slowly reached out and rested her hand on his arm. He reached up and took her hand in his own, running his fingers over her knuckles absently.

"I think," Robin began slowly, "that there are a few things I need to work out for myself—before I can do this."

"I understand," Chrom said softly. He let go of her hand and rose from his chair.

"But—" Robin said quickly, standing up. "Ask me again! A-ask me again. Later."

Chrom looked at her. His eyes brightened slightly. "Why?" he asked.

"Because then, I think, I could say yes," Robin said.

Chrom paused. Robin stared at him, exhilarated but slightly terrified, happy and hopeful at the same time.

Then he nodded. "I'll hold you to that," he said, flashing her a quick smile that made her heart skip a beat. "Good night, Robin."

And there Robin was, standing in the middle of her tent, watching Chrom leave, and staring after him.

 _He has a nice smile,_ she realized. _I want to see it more often._

She looked down at her book. It suddenly seemed very uninteresting.

 _I should sleep._

She shrugged out of her armor, blew out the candles, and climbed into her cot. She closed her eyes, but her mind was whirling at the thought of Chrom's eyes, and his voice, and his smile.

 _I'm a Shepherd, I'm Robin,_ she thought giddily, grinning into the darkness.

They weren't her memories, but for now, it was enough.

* * *

A/N: Gosh this series has a lot more romance than I thought it would. Especially since the first romance I'd ever written was Chapter 3. I dunno, how am I doing with it?

I, too, sing Scarborough Fair when trying to distract myself. Although I should have checked the lyrics before I went ahead and put it into the fic. Ah well.


	8. Chapter 8

A/N: Only a couple of reviews for the last chapter, which took me twice as long to write as others. I didn't think it was that awful, although to be fair I probably shouldn't have posted it on the 4th of July XD

 **Reminder:** If there's any of the previous Robins you'd like to see more of, feel free to leave a request! (I might just put this notice at the start of every chapter.)

As always, reviews are greatly appreciated!

* * *

The two warring parties had been locked in battle for days now. The stalemate was dragging on and on. Neither was willing to give in or concede an inch of ground. The Shepherds were on edge, exhausted, their nerves shot by the seemingly endless struggle.

"To tell you the truth," said Gaius as the Shepherds milled about in the mess tent, "I don't even care anymore."

Sumia stopped pushing her food around with her fork and jerked her head up. "Gaius!" she said reproachfully.

"No, actually, I don't care." Gaius threw down his spoon. "I don't care who wins anymore. I just want it to be over."

"We _all_ want it to be over," Stahl said. The usually cheerful Shepherd was unusually gloomy. "It's been way too long."

"Matters such as these cannot be hurried past their pace," Virion sighed. "Alas, we must allow this war to run its course."

There was a gloomy silence as the Shepherds considered the thought of even more days of tension and conflict.

"I, for one, agree with Gaius," Frederick said suddenly.

"Frederick!" Sumia said in surprise.

Frederick shook his head and stabbed at a piece of sausage with his fork. "This petty dispute has continued for too long."

"Indeed," Maribelle scoffed as she set down her teacup.

"It's friggin' stupid, that's what!" Sully said loudly, smacking the table. "I'm all for marching in so we can—"

"So we can what?" someone said quietly.

The Shepherds froze. As one, they turned their heads.

The past days of stress had not been kind on Robin. His eyes were bloodshot, his yellow hair out of its usual ponytail and hanging about him in flyaway strands. One twitching hand clasped a Thunder tome tightly.

"N-nothing!" Sumia yelped. "I-it's nothing, Robin! Uh, good morning!"

Robin stared right through her. "Morning," he said, turning away and slouching towards the table of food, where Cordelia was still serving the straggling and late-rising Shepherds. The group watched him leave.

"As I was saying," Sully hissed, "I'm all for marching in and beating some sense into the two of them."

"You can't strike Lord Chrom!" Maribelle said, scandalized.

"I've been beating Chrom up since he was five," Sully snorted.

"That's probably not something to brag about, Sully," said Stahl.

"Whatever!" Sully threw up her hands. "It's stupid!"

The tent flap swung open and a disheveled Chrom marched in. He stopped dead in his tracks as he saw Robin at the breakfast table.

"Uh-oh," Stahl muttered.

"Should we say something?" whispered Sumia.

"No," snapped Frederick suddenly. "You all are displaying _far_ too much concern over a simple argument between milord and Robin, for Naga's sake!"

"It's not just any argument!" Ricken burst out. "They haven't talked to each other for _five days!_ "

Chrom was staring at Robin with a focus that could melt through stone, clearly deciding whether to not to leave in a huff or swallow his pride and eat breakfast.

"Yeah," Sully said. She drained her mug of coffee in one gulp. "Stubborn sons of bitches."

"That's not a nice thing to say about the late queen," Sumia said reproachfully.

"I could be talking about his dad," Sully said. "Hey, look."

The alluring smell of Cordelia's sausages had won. Chrom was grudgingly making his way over to the breakfast table.

"If Blue and Bubbles got in a fight," Gaius said, twirling a spoon, "who do you think would win?"

Robin looked up from where he was dropping hash browns onto his plate and saw Chrom inching his way over to the scrambled eggs. Both of them froze and glared daggers at each other.

"You just might get your answer," Ricken said quietly.

"If you eat too many of those you'll get fat," Chrom said loudly.

"I guess you'd be the expert on that," Robin snapped back.

Chrom scowled. His hand inched towards where Falchion was sheathed at his side.

"Ouch," Stahl whistled.

"My money's on Bubbles," Gaius muttered.

Maribelle raised an eyebrow. "Milord is the better swordsman."

"And Bubbles can _shoot lightning,_ " Gaius said. "Care to bet?"

"Those of the nobility do not engage in such low-level behavior," Maribelle sniffed.

"I'll put you down for ten chocolate bars, then?"

"Shh!" Sumia hissed, making urgent warning gestures with one hand.

Gaius jumped as Robin sidled up behind him and grabbed his shoulder.

"Gaius! My beeeeest friend," Robin said, dragging the words out deliberately. At the breakfast table, Chrom twitched as he set the coffee pot down with a bang. "Scoot over, will ya!"

Stahl made a disparaging sound. Maribelle coughed politely and when Gaius glanced at her, shook her head imperceptibly. The thought of sitting next to an angry Robin was, apparently, even more terrifying than the thought of watching him and Chrom fight.

" _Gaius,"_ Robin said firmly, in his I Am The Tactician Voice, the same voice he used whenever he was being particularly shouty about his orders.

There was no disobeying the Voice. Almost automatically, Gaius got up and moved to make room.

"Thank you," Robin said, setting his plate down.

"Nice job, Chuckles," Sully muttered. Gaius rolled his eyes.

Chrom walked over to the table, gritting his teeth. "You're being incredibly immature about this, you know," he informed Robin.

"Did you hear anyone talk?" Robin asked Gaius, staring at a forkful of scrambled eggs. "It must be the wind." he shoved the workload of egg into his mouth and chewed forcefully.

Chrom scowled and dug his fork into the table. It left gouges in the wood.

"They're going to kill each other," Ricken whispered frantically to Stahl. "With _forks._ "

Thankfully, Chrom did not stab Robin with a fork. Instead, he snatched up a piece of toast and began buttering it with a vindictive intensity.

Ricken gulped.

"Don't worry, I hate it when Mom and Dad fight too," Gaius whispered sarcastically. Robin twitched.

Having finished mangling his toast, Chrom picked up his mug of coffee and took a swig, but spat it out.

"Gack!" he sputtered. "What—what's wrong with the coffee?"

The Shepherds glanced at each other, bewildered.

"The coffee's fine," Sully said.

"Oh no," Robin said, staring at the ceiling with exaggerated focus. "You must have put salt in it instead of sugar. What a shame." he tsked.

"I didn't—wait a minute," Chrom said. "Was that you?"

Robin ate a piece of bacon thoughtfully. "Who knows?" he said. "It is a mystery."

"How old are you, five?" Chrom set down his mug in disgust and began shoveling food in his mouth to remove the taste. "This tastes awful!"

Robin scoffed. "Like you would know about taste, you freaking _blueberry."_

Chrom stopped eating. "What did you call me!?"

"Blueberry," Robin snarled.

There was a blur of movement as Chrom stood up and threw out his arm. The Shepherds beside him instinctively cringed and ducked, then relaxed as they realized that he couldn't possibly reach Robin from across the table.

Then there was a moment of collective terror when they saw the piece of jam-covered toast plastered to Robin's hair.

Gaius glanced down at Chrom's plate. Chrom was missing one piece of toast.

"I've-got-to-go-check-on-the-pegasi-goodbye-everyone!" Sumia said in one breath, leaping up from the table and dashing out of the tent. Ricken looked panicked, then threw his dignity to the wind and dashed after her. The rest of the Shepherds were too stunned to move.

"Oh dear," Maribelle said quietly.

"Oh, shit," Sully muttered.

Robin stood up. Unholy wrath burned in his eyes. "You got jam in my hair."

There was a split second of silence as Chrom appraised his tactician thoughtfully.

"It's an improvement," he said.

Robin grabbed his plate and stomped over to where Chrom was sitting.

Frederick stood up quickly. "Milord, Robin," he said, "This quarrel is getting out of hand—"

That was all he had time to say before Robin emptied his plate of scrambled eggs over Chrom's head.

The resulting brawl was legendary.

—

"Now," Frederick said, a maniac gleam in his eye, "I believe you two have something to say to each other."

Chrom and Robin glanced nervously up at the knight. In any other situation Chrom and Robin could have very easily overtaken him, but Robin's robes were sticky with syrup and Chrom had hit his head after trying to tackle Robin and slipping on a stray piece of toast, and the two of them had worn out all their energy trying to fight each other. Frederick, on the other hand, had a near-berserk look on his face and was wielding a broken-off table leg as a crude club. It was no contest.

"Chrom," Frederick growled. "You first."

"Robin, I'm sorry I threw toast at you," Chrom said obediently. Frederick had helped raise Chrom, after all, and old habits die hard.

Robin glanced up at Frederick. His tome was in lunging distance, but he was also certain that at this point, all a Thunder would do was make Frederick angrier.

A good tactician knew to surrender when beaten. "I'm sorry I dumped scrambled eggs on your head," he said meekly.

"Good," Frederick said exaggeratedly, in the same tone one might use to talk to very small children. "Now why don't you two apologize for whatever it was you were arguing over in the first place?"

A brief, strange expression flashed over Robin's face. "Chrom," he said quickly, "why don't you go first?"

"I went first last time, it's your turn now," Chrom retorted equally as quickly.

"No, you go."

Robin glanced from side to side. Chrom shifted uneasily. Frederick stared at them.

"…do you remember what we were arguing about?" Robin whispered.

"I was hoping you would," Chrom muttered.

The two of them slowly turned their heads to glance at Frederick. The look in his eyes could have pierced through dragonhide. There was a cracking noise as he snapped the table leg in half.

"As the tactician," Robin said carefully, "I suggest that we retreat."

"Let's," said Chrom hurriedly. The two of them bolted out of the tent. Or tried to bolt. Moving deceptively fast for a man who spent most of his time covered in metal armor, Frederick lunged forward and grabbed them by the shoulders.

"How thoughtful of you two," Frederick said, grinning in the same way Tharja did when she was casting a particularly nasty hex, "to volunteer to clean up."

"…when did that happen?" Chrom said.

Frederick _glared._

"Alright," Chrom said quickly.

"No problem," Robin agreed.

—

"This is never going to come off," Chrom said, scrubbing furiously at a sticky patch of syrup on the wall of the mess tent.

"When you're done with that, come help me over here," Robin said. "There's a piece of bread or something stuck on the ceiling and I'm not tall enough to reach it."

"When you two are done with _that,"_ Frederick said, sitting nearby and watching them, "there are dishes that need to be washed."

Chrom and Robin groaned.

"Who's really in charge of this army, I wonder?" Robin said under his breath.

"What was that?" Frederick asked politely.

"Nothing!" Robin said. "Nothing at all."

* * *

A/N: I...don't really have much to say for this author's note. I guess I'll just say hello and that my favorite dinosaur is Allosaurus.


	9. Chapter 9

A/N: Can I say that I've been blown away by the response to this story? Seriously. I love hearing from you guys, it makes me so happy.

Also **FYI:** updates will be a bit more sporadic for the next month or so.

Modern AU this time.

Reminder: If there's any of the Robins from the previous chapters that you'd like to see more of, let me know and I'll be happy to write more!

As always, reviews are appreciated.

* * *

The painting was the pride of the Ylissean National History Museum. The canvas was gigantic, requiring an entire wall to itself. It was a cultural relic, unearthed by a band of lucky antique-hunters from the heirlooms of the long-gone family of Themis. Inside the frame, a war raged on. Vague figures of different statures wielding bows, swords, lances and axes stood assembled against a dark backdrop. But it was no ordinary darkness—six burning purple eyes stared out of the darkness menacingly. At the center, a blue-haired man lifted his sword, the blade shining white like the sun. Beside him, a hooded figure in a dark coat stood protectively, lightning sparking from their fingertips. The two stood back-to-back, tall and proud, defiant against the black swirls of paint that licked at the edges and background of the canvas.

In front of the painting stood another blue-haired man, not cloaked and clad in armor like the man on the canvas, but in a light jacket and jeans. His gaze was fixed on the painting with a quiet intensity. So intense, in fact, that he didn't notice the woman approach until she was right next to him.

The man started and turned quickly, surprised, but relaxed just as quickly.

"Ah, are you here to see this painting too?" he said.

The woman nodded. Her silver hair was still wet with the rain from outside and small droplets of water cascaded to the ground. "It's only here for a while, right? I'm new in town and a friend said I should come see it."

The man hmmed in acknowledgement. "Do you know what this painting is of?" he asked.

She shook her head. "Not really. Some ancient king, right?"

"The proper title at the time was _Exalt,_ I think," he replied. "But yes, that's pretty accurate, I think." He lifted his arm and pointed at the armored man in the center. "His name was Chrom. He became the Exalt after his sister, Emmeryn, died in a war against another nation. The other figures in the painting—" he gestured to the shadowy figures that waited in the wings of the painting. "—are members of a small militia he formed. They were called the Shepherds."

"Because they guided and protected people?" the woman guessed.

"That's right." the man glanced at her quickly and moved his gaze back to the painting. "Under Chrom's leadership, the Shepherds helped end the war. There are also stories of him facing and defeating this…evil spirit of sorts. The Fell Dragon Grima. He's sort of become a cultural hero at this point, I guess. There are movies and books about his life, documentaries…some people even name their sons after him."

The woman blinked. "Seriously?"

"Seriously. My parents were two of those people," the man admitted, running a hand through his hair.

"Your name is Chrom?"

"Yeah. My dad was a history nut. When he saw I had blue hair, well…" Chrom shrugged sheepishly. "There was no stopping him."

The woman grinned. "I see. Well, nice to meet you, Chrom. I'm Robin."

"Hello, Robin," Chrom said with a small laugh. They shook hands.

"Seriously, I didn't know that this…Exalt guy was so famous," Robin said as they turned back to the painting. "I wonder what he would think, knowing that people are still going crazy over him over a thousand years later. He'd probably be pretty pleased."

Chrom frowned pensively. "I don't know," he said slowly. "I don't think he'd like all the hype."

"Hmm?"

"If you look at the contemporary writings we have about him, even if there's not a lot…" he shifted, tugging at his shirt collar absently. "I don't know. I think he'd rather not be glamorized like this. He'd rather his companions be remembered too…" he trailed off, then seemed to shake off the strange thoughts clouding his eyes. "Anyway, the person beside him is called the High Deliverer."

"No name?" Robin said.

Chrom shook his head. "Lost to history. We don't know much about them. Gender, family, date of death…nothing. That's probably why the artist painted them with the hood on. Keep it ambiguous, right?" he shrugged.

"That's kinda sad," Robin murmured.

"It is," Chrom said quietly, with a sudden seriousness that made Robin turn and look at him to make sure he was okay. "We know that the High Deliverer was Chrom's constant companion, the tactician of the Shepherds, and a military genius who helped lead Ylisse to victory. But nothing else. They've been forgotten." A distant, misty look came into his eyes.

"I bet the historians have a fun time with the speculation," Robin said, eager to steer him away from the strange turn the conversation had taken.

Chrom snorted. "Oh, definitely. Every time there's an academic get-together about the Shepherds, there's always a huge argument over who the High Deliverer really was."

Robin looked up at the painting. The light played across the skillful strokes of color, bringing the painting to life. The approaching void of darkness seemed real. Blades seemed to glint with real light. The figures of the Shepherds were perfectly captured as they prepared to charge forward into battle against the dragon. And in the center were the Exalt and the High Deliverer, two halves of a greater whole, challenging the shadows.

"It's a brilliant painting," Robin said honestly.

Chrom nodded. "When I look at it, though…I somehow feel sad. I don't know why."

"Sad?" she stared at the painting. The scene was grand and fraught with tension. The brush strokes were magnificent, the colors beautiful and vibrant. It was a masterpiece, a proud and striking testimony to Ylisse's history, and yet…

"Me too," Robin said.

Chrom looked surprised. "My sisters think that too," he said. "But most people just think I'm weird."

Robin laughed. "Well, you did just give a history lecture to a total stranger," she teased.

"We know each other's names now," he said defensively, flushing slightly. "Not _total_ strangers."

Despite herself, Robin smiled. She could leave now, she knew. She could thank him for the story and wander off by herself to some other section, enjoy a quiet afternoon at the museum and return home to her apartment. Life as usual. And yet…

"Well, then, stranger," she found herself saying, "what can you tell me about this next exhibit?" she pointed to a set of short swords in a glass case.

Chrom stared at her for a split second, then grinned widely. Robin felt something slide into place with a _click,_ felt a strange feeling of _rightness._

"Well," Chrom said, "these are a set of blades from Akaneia, the country before Ylisse. I think these are from around the time of the Hero-King Marth…"

The two of them walked away from the painting, talking quietly.

On the canvas, the Exalt Chrom draws his sword against the darkness. Beside him, the High Deliverer stands ready, hands wreathed in arcs of lightning. The two stand together, their moment of unity captured forever in paint. Viewers who looked very carefully often saw, under the tactician's hood, a small trace of a smile.

And Chrom and Robin walked through the museum halls side by side, talking of wars and history and anything they could think of.

After all, two halves of a greater whole could never stay apart for long.

(And so they met again, in a better life.)

* * *

A/N: And then they suddenly became best friends except this time neither of them had to die to save the other. #fixeditforyou


	10. Chapter 10

A/N: Hello everybody, sorry I was gone for a while there. Just a heads-up: I'm going to be very busy for the next few months but I'll try my best to update!

Also a reminder: **if there's any version of Robin from the previous chapters that'd you like to see more of, feel free to say so!**

* * *

"The problem is," Robin says, spinning her quill absently, "that there just aren't a lot of women who fit both the council's criteria and yours."

 _To hell with the council's criteria,_ Chrom thinks bitterly. Even after Gangrel's death and the war's end, he still can't seem to find happiness. Why did a bunch of stuffy noblemen in wigs have a say in who he married, for Naga's sake?

"The council was very…firm on the fact that your wife be someway connected to the nobility," Robin continues. "It's not like there's a shortage of options there. But if we add in your request—"

"I don't want to get married to someone I don't even know," Chrom says adamantly. Which isn't a lie. Chrom wants to marry someone he knows and understands, someone who sees him for who he really is and not just for the brand on his shoulder. Someone like—

He swallows hard, chasing away his wishful thoughts. If there had ever been any chance of that happening, it is far too late now.

"I'll start with the obvious option," Robin says. "Sumia. What do you think?"

Chrom shifts in his seat. He's uncomfortable and Robin knows it. "She's nice," he says eventually.

Robin stares. "Really, Chrom? You can give me better than that."

"Alright, sorry," Chrom says, holding up his hands in surrender. He was always helpless when he was on the receiving end of Robin's stare. "Sumia, Sumia…hang on, no."

"Oh? Why?" Robin says, cocking her head. "She likes you, judging by all the pies she's baked you." If there's a strange edge to her voice, Chrom doesn't notice it.

"Don't mention it," he groans. Sumia's strawberry rhubarb pie had tasted delicious for the first couple slices. After the sixteenth? Not so much.

"And I think she's the daughter of some duchess or the other, so there won't be any complaints coming from the council," Robin presses.

"There might be complaints from Frederick," Chrom retorts, and regrets it almost instantly.

Robin turns her head slowly towards him. "Sorry, _why_?"

Chrom guiltily picks at a stray splinter on the surface of the table, watching the shadow his hand makes against the moonlight from the open window.

"He's planning on proposing to her," he says.

"Oh." Robin blinks and leans back in her chair. "I didn't know they were so…close."

"Neither did I."

"He told you?"

"No, I—I walked in on him practicing what he was going to say behind the weapons tent."

"Chrom walked in on someone?" Robin says pointedly. "Why didn't I see that coming?"

"Robin!"

"Alright, alright," Robin concedes. "Far be it from me to intervene in Frederick's love life." Chrom snorts. "How about…Maribelle, then?"

Chrom blinks. "Maribelle?" he murmurs, brow furrowing as if he'd never considered the option before. Which he hadn't. "No…no, she and Libra…" he trails off.

"You noticed?" Robin says in disbelief.

Chrom flushes. "Ah…no, Lissa was talking about it."

"That I can believe," Robin says wryly, and Chrom laughs a short, breathy laugh.

"Well…" Robin presses her hand to her forehead, biting her lip. Chrom stares at her mouth for a few seconds before he forces himself to look away. "Well…there's Sully."

Chrom jerks. "Sully!?"

"I know you two grew up together and that might be strange," Robin says quickly, "but she's still a member of the nobility—"

"Sully!?"

"—if you want to marry someone you know, I suppose you know Sully well enough—"

" _Sully!?_ "

"…I'll take that as a no, I guess."

"We've known each other since we were five!" Chrom sputters. "She's like my cousin!"

Robin frowns, although she admitted he did have a point. It would be hard to marry someone when you still had dim childhood recollections of wrestling them into a mud puddle. _Not that you would know,_ a part of her whispers bitterly. _What childhood recollections do you have to speak of?_

"Alright then. I've saved the best for last," she says, squashing down her negative thoughts. "Olivia."

Chrom stares.

"Olivia," Robin says again. "Pink-haired. Dancer. From Regna Ferox. Remember her?"

"Of course!" Chrom says hastily. "I just—I never really thought about marrying her."

"I think it's clear that you haven't really thought about marrying anyone," Robin quips.

 _That's not true,_ Chrom thinks.

"Anyway," Robin continues, "Olivia isn't technically a member of the nobility, but she's charismatic and is in good standing with Basilio—if you two marry that'll be seen as another tie between Regna Ferox and Ylisse so there should be no complaints from the council on that part. And she's nice enough, I guess."

"No," Chrom says.

Robin groans and buries her head in her hands. "Really, Chrom? What is it this time? Is she too quiet for you? Do you prefer singers over dancers? Maybe you would prefer that her hair be a lighter shade of pink?"

"No—it's none of those in particular! I just don't want to marry her!" Chrom protests.

"Why not?" Robin says. She's run out of patience and her cheeks are beginning to flush with agitation. "She's beautiful, kind, and a member of the Shepherds. Why not, Chrom? _Why not?"_

"I don't want to!" Chrom says loudly, almost childishly, in his refusal. "I don't want to marry Sumia or Maribelle or Sully or Olivia!"

Robin suddenly slams her hand on the table with a bang. "Well, help me out here then, because I certainly don't see any other option!"

Chrom's breath catches in his throat. "No other option?" he asks softly.

Robin's eyes flick up to meet his. She opens her mouth as if about to speak, but no words come out. They stare at each other, each silently begging the other to speak first, to say what neither of them has the courage to say, what they both know to be impossible.

Robin lowers her eyes, letting the mask of indifference fall away. She can't have him and it hurts, to be denied the one thing she ever longed for, the one thing she ever dreamed of having. But Robin doesn't have noble blood in her veins, she has a six-eyed mark on her hand and a blank slate where her memories used to be. She is not pure and kind like Sumia, cultured and prim like Maribelle, or graceful and beautiful like Olivia. Robin's hair is Plegian silver and the Mark of Grima is embroidered into her coat, and though she might be close friends with Chrom it will never—can't ever amount to anything more than that.

"None," she says quietly.

The two of them fall into silence.

Chrom slips a hand in his pocket. His fingers find and circle around a ring, a ring with the Ylissean crest seared into its gemstone, a ring his mother had passed down and Emmeryn had entrusted to him, telling him to give it to the right person. And Chrom, still gangly and awkward in his teenage years, had asked, _how will I know who the right person is?_ And Emmeryn had smiled and said, _you'll know._

This ring is Robin's. It's been Robin's since the two of them reunited after Gangrel was defeated and Chrom had realized that even after the long, grueling war and faced with the prospects of all he had to do as the new Exalt, all he could think about in that moment was how _happy_ he was that she was alive.

"Robin—" he says, a moment of daring overtaking him. But she knows him too well and cuts him off.

"It's about what's best for Ylisse, Chrom," she says harshly, hoping he won't hear the tremor in her voice.

Chrom stops and closes his eyes, bowing his head. Robin feels a pang of guilt at seeing him so defeated and speaks more gently. "Your wife has to be more than your wife. You're the Exalt, Chrom. She has to be a queen."

"I'm my own man before I'm the Exalt," Chrom whispers, his eyes still shut tight as if he could block out the world. "I—I want to be just Chrom. Just me." he lifts his head to gaze at Robin beseechingly. "After all we've been through, is that too much to ask?"

"I wish it weren't," Robin says, throwing all pretense of apathy to the wind. "Trust me. I wish it weren't."

Chrom clenches his jaw. He wants to give her so much. He wants to give his love and his promise that he will stay by her side. He wants to give her security, peace, a family. He wants to hold her in his arms as the night falls and fall asleep to the sound of her breathing.

But he can't give her any of that. He can't even give her a ring.

"Olivia it is, then," he hears himself say. He feels a vague sense of distance between himself and his body, as if it isn't really him sitting in that chair, as if everything is happening to someone else.

"Okay," Robin says quietly. "You decide how to go about it, then. You'll be expected to court her, but not for very long—the council wants to see a new queen as soon as possible." She rises and pushes back her chair, turning towards the door.

A suddenly feeling of panic seizes him. "Wait! Don't go," he says quickly. "Robin!" she stops and turns towards him. "Robin! Don't go."

"I'm just going back to my room," she replies, puzzled. "It's late."

"No—that's not—" he flounders. How can he let her walk out, when after tonight nothing will be the same ever again? "Not yet. It's not too late yet. Can you—will you stay, for a little while longer?"

Robin studies him for a few moments. Her silver hair, in the moonlight, seems to glow faintly.

"For a little while longer," she says softly, and steps back to rejoin him.

* * *

Chrom marries Olivia on a sunny spring day. The crowds rejoice in the streets. Banners are hung and confetti is flung to celebrate the bride and groom, and the next link in the line of the Exalt. Chrom smiles and lifts his hand to greet the adoring masses of people. But Frederick and Lissa, and Sully and Vaike, and those closest to him can tell by the way his eyes remain dim and the set of his shoulders, that the smile is not a true one.

Robin watches the marriage from the shadows. She silently vows to be faster and smarter and _better_ than she was before—a tactician whose name will be written down in history, a tactician who is remembered for leading Ylisse and her Exalt to peace and prosperity.

After all, all she ever wanted was for him to be safe.

* * *

Maybe someplace else there would have been a happy ending.

* * *

A/N: My writing went a bit wonky when I was writing this. I don't know if it's evident. I think I need more sleep.

Reviews are greatly appreciated! Hearing feedback really does make my day, even if it's just a line or two.


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N:** As per request, **the Robin in this chapter is the same Robin as the one in Chapter One!** However, you can read this without reading the first chapter—but you should go and do that anyway if you haven't. (coughcough) But in case you don't wanna, FYI this version of Robin is meant to be gender-neutral. Interpret their gender in whatever way you'd like.

 **Also, the usual reminder:** if there's any version of Robin from the previous chapters you'd like to see more of, feel free to say so!

* * *

"Don't worry," Robin said confidently. "This is all part of my master plan."

Chrom leaned his head against the stone wall with a thump. "We are in an underground jail cell, without our weapons, in the middle of a secret Plegian hideout swarming with guards, and the others have no idea where we are."

"Okay, you got me there." Robin stared out through the bars gloomily. The Plegians had done a good job. The room outside the cells was occupied by four soldiers armed to the teeth. One of them caught Robin's eye and leered menacingly.

Robin sighed. "Hey, is the floor of your cell damp? Mine is. It's really gross."

"No," Chrom replied.

"Hey, how come your cell is better than mine?" Robin glared at no one in particular. "I demand equal treatment!"

"King Gangrel was right," one guard murmured to another. "Ylisseans are idiots."

* * *

"In case you were wondering," Robin informed Chrom cheerfully, "it's been two hours and thirty-eight minutes since we were captured."

"Thank you for that relevant piece of information," Chrom said. He wondered, once again, how he had managed to get stuck with such an irritating person as his tactician.

"It is relevant because I drank three cups of coffee before we set off," said Robin, "and I'm about to un-drink all that coffee. If you get my drift."

Chrom groaned.

A guard heard them and stomped over. "Need to piss, brat?" he sneered at Robin.

"Yeah, about that—could you take me to the bathroom?" Robin asked cheerfully.

The guard grinned. "Your cell comes with a bathroom," he said, jabbing a finger at the corner of Robin's cell.

Robin looked.

"Uh, that's a bucket."

"Yep," the guard said, baring his teeth in a crude semblance of a smile.

"I'm not going to use a bucket."

The guard reared back suddenly and slammed his fist against the wall. Both Chrom and Robin flinched. The other guards guffawed.

"You're locked up in a cell and you've got the gall to think you can call the shots?" he roared. Chrom, who was in a separate cell from his tactician, cursed quietly and leaned against the bars in the outer wall to see what was going on. "I've got news for you, _traitor_ —you're at our mercy now. My mercy. The king wants you alive—Grima knows why—but I don't think he'll be too mad if I just beat the shit outta you—"

"Don't!" Chrom yelled, grasping the bars with a sudden urgency. The guard might have been stupid, but he was a huge man and Robin was so _small,_ he could probably break Robin's ribs with one blow—

The guard's head swung towards Chrom like a dog catching a scent. He prowled over, reaching his hand towards the bars. Chrom realized his plan and ducked backwards towards the far end of the cell; the guard's hand grabbed at Chrom's lapel, but barely missed. He settled for spitting on the ground near Chrom's feet.

"The heroic prince," he sneered. "How will Naga help you now?" he leaned forward. "Or your little friend? You wouldn't want to see 'em hurt now, would you?"

"I'll kill you," Chrom breathed, quietly furious. Threatening him was one matter. Threatening Robin was another.

"Fine, I'll use the bucket!" Robin said loudly, breaking the silence. "Can you leave now, please?"

* * *

More time passed. The guards were playing cards on a spindly wooden table. It wasn't a game Chrom recognized—probably a game native to Plegia, then. They weren't too distracted by it though—once in a while one of them would glance up and glare at Chrom and Robin, as if to remind them that they were still being watched.

Chrom sighed a long gusty sigh and held his head in his hands.

"I'm sorry," Robin said suddenly. It was a quiet whisper, loud enough for Chrom to hear but somehow went largely unnoticed by the guards.

"Why?" Chrom replied quietly.

"Because I complained about the cell and made the guards angry," Robin said. Chrom heard the sound of restless pacing in the other cell. "And also because you had to hear me—uh, use the bucket."

"It's alright, I covered my ears," Chrom said.

"But mostly," Robin continued, "because I got us into this."

Chrom closed his eyes and leaned his head against the wall dividing his cell and Robin's.

"And you'll get us out," he said finally. "I know you will."

There was a brief pause.

"You can't see me, but I'm smiling right now," Robin said.

An image flashed through Chrom's mind—the sloping curve of Robin's mouth into a grin, the way the tactician's face softened almost childishly with each smile. Chrom felt his spirits rise slightly despite the severity of their situation.

"Thanks," Robin said.

"Thank _you_ ," Chrom said, the tiniest bit more cheerful. "I'm glad you're here. I'd rather we not be imprisoned, obviously, but I'm thankful you're with me."

* * *

"Bah-bah-bah, bah-bah-banana—"

"I spoke too soon," Chrom muttered, massaging his temples with one hand.

"Shut _up_!" a guard howled, throwing a rusty tin kettle at the bars to Robin's cell. The kettle clanged against the metal bars and glanced off harmlessly. "That is the _stupidest_ fucking song!"

Robin didn't even flinch. "Bah-na-NAH-ah-aahh, poh-TAY-TO-daaAAaahhh—"

"I WILL beat the shit out of you!" the guard who had been tormenting Robin snapped. "I will do it—"

"Sure, but you should unlock the door first, and I looked at the runes for the magic inhibiting circle in this cell. They deactivate when the door's open," Robin said. "Bad design, don't you think? Bah-bah-bah—"

The guard snarled but stepped backwards rather quickly.

"I can't take this anymore," one of the other guards groaned. "I need some fresh air." The others muttered their assent. The door was flung open and three of them exited the room, muttering angrily about 'crazy Ylissean tacticians.'

Only the first guard was left. He seemed to realize this and pointed a finger threateningly at Robin. "Don't get any ideas," he said threateningly. "They'll be back soon enough."

"Never said they wouldn't be," Robin said casually. "To-ga-li no, po-tay-toh ni-ga-ni-bah ni-ka-no-ji-gah—"

"You're not even singing real words anymore!" Chrom said despairingly.

"Bah-bah-bah, bah-bah-bah—"

* * *

At least fifteen minutes had passed. The other guards had not returned. More urgently, Robin was _still singing._

"Bah-bah-bah. Bah-bah-bah-NAAAAAAA—"

"That does it!" the guard snarled, grabbing his sword and moving forward. Chrom stiffened suddenly. The guard could try anything right now and Chrom wouldn't be able to stop him.

"You piece of shit, you _traitor,_ " the guard hissed, stalking towards Robin's cell like an angry cat. Robin had stopped singing "It's not enough that a Plegian has to serve those Ylissean blackhearts—you have to be a complete and utter dimwit, too! The King wanted you captured, not in one piece—I'm going to cut you till—"

There was a sudden bang, and a sudden silence.

"Robin?" Chrom called frantically, stumbling towards the outer wall of his cell. "Robin!" he pressed his head against the bars, craning his neck to try and catch a glimpse of the guard. "You bastard, if you've hurt Robin—"

"He can't hear you," Robin said.

"Robin! Are you alright?" Chrom said. He could see the guard, slumped on the ground. "What happened?"

"I knocked his head against one of the bars," Robin said cheerfully. There was a jingling sound. "Oh look, he has the keys!"

"Thank Naga," Chrom muttered, leaning his weight on the bars and letting out a heavy sigh. He heard more jingling, then a click.

"And I'm out!" Robin said, sliding into view and grinning at Chrom from outside the cell.

"Great! Let me out!" Chrom said.

"What's the magic word?"

 _"Robin!"_

"Okay, yeah, my name is pretty great. Like magic." Robin unlocked Chrom's cell and pushed the door open. "You can thank me later."

The guard lying on the ground stirred and groaned. Chrom stiffened, but before he had a chance to react Robin seized the guard's sword and whacked him over the head with the flat of the blade. He went out again like a light.

"That was close," Robin said, dropping the sword. "All that yelling and he was scared of my magic, huh?"

"Wait, I thought you need a tome to use magic," Chrom said.

"Yeah, but he probably didn't know that, did he?" Robin shrugged. "Hey, I want to dump my bucket on his head—okay or too far?"

"Too far," Chrom said.

"You never let me have any fun."

Footsteps sounded from the other side of the door.

"Shit," Chrom cursed.

"Okay, part one: jailbreak, of the plan is down," Robin said quickly. "Now it's time for part two: escape."

"Alright," Chrom said hurriedly, "what's the plan?"

"That's the problem," Robin said sheepishly, "I only planned so far as part one."

Chrom groaned. "We're a joke," he informed the unconscious guard, "and I'm the punchline."

The door burst open. Chrom and Robin turned, Chrom reaching for the sword on the ground and Robin lunching to grab, of all things, a stool.

But the doorway did not contain a mass of Plegian guards. It contained very bulky, and very familiar man in a suit of armor.

"Kellam!" Chrom said joyfully.

"Who?" Robin frowned.

* * *

"Let me get this straight," Sully said slowly, "you sang a song and it helped you escape."

"Pretty much," Robin said modestly. "Want to hear it?"

"NO," Chrom yelled.

While Chrom had been right in saying that the Shepherds had no idea where he and Robin were being kept, he had been wrong in assuming that they would be unable to find them. Panne's taguel form had a superb sense of smell and Nowi's manakete form, as it turned out, was good for more than giving Donnel (and occasionally Robin) dragon rides.

Sully exchanged a glance with Frederick. "No offense, Robin," Sully said slowly, "but that sounds like a terrible plan."

"I had a great plan!" Robin said.

"It appears that you had no real plan," Lon'qu commented.

"Of course I did," Robin insisted. "How dare you insult me like that? I am a professional and genius tactician."

"Of course you are," Sully said, patting the white-haired tactician on the head.

Chrom looked at the ragtag group of Shepherds, weary but triumphant, and felt a swell of gratefulness and pride. "I think," he said, "it's high time we returned to Ylisstol for a break."

Vaike whooped. Sully grinned. Even Tharja looked vaguely happier at the promise of rest.

"That sounds nice!" Robin grinned. "There you go, you were right!"

"About what?" Chrom said, surprised and confused.

"I got us out," Robin said, pleased.

Despite himself, Chrom felt a weary smile break out on his face. "That you did," he said.

* * *

 _"Bah-na-NAH-ah-aahh—"_

"Naga above and Grima below, WHY must you do this to me?" Chrom shouted towards the sky.

Oddly enough, neither Grima nor Naga answered.

* * *

 **A/N:** The song that Robin sings is the "Banana Song" sung by the Minions in Despicable Me. It was the most annoying song I could think of on short notice. Short notice, meaning, I wrote this in forty minutes while sleep deprived when I should have been doing other, more important, things.

...*glances at review count*

Wow. I didn't think we'd get _this_ far. Thank you to everyone who has read this story! I've got something special planned once we hit 100, but it's not ready yet so I decided to post this chapter first as a break from all the angst.

As always, reviews are appreciated!


	12. Chapter 12

A/N: Well, like Robin, I have returned from the dead. I'm sorry this took so long, and that I haven't responded to any reviews! I've been super busy.

And we've broken 100 reviews! Wow. I'm floored. I actually spent a pretty long time writing a special chapter and it turned out to be the most self-indulgent thing I've ever written. I'm undecided on whether or not to post it.

But anyway, more Modern!Robin and Chrom! **The Robin in this chapter is the same as the Robin in Chapter 9.** You should probably read that chapter before this one.

* * *

Sometimes, Chrom dreams of dragons.

In his dream, he is older and stronger, standing on a cliff overlooking the remnants of a battlefield. A white cloak billows about his shoulders in the harsh wind and he feels the weight of a sword in his hand. The land below him is devastated, burnt black and littered with what look like enormous, charred bones. His shoulders sag with weariness and a cold, creeping sensation of loneliness and loss burns in his chest. And in his mind's eye, the dragon appears, white and graceful, iridescent wings unfurling as it speaks to him.

 _I'm sorry, my son,_ it says, with a voice like the chiming of distant bells.

Chrom always wakes feeling shaken and more than a little bit confused.

In the end, he attributes these dreams to nothing more than the result of too many visits to the history museum and too many stories from his father (who, being a lover of all things ancient Ylissean, has never let Chrom forget the legacy of his namesake). The dreams are strange, but in the end they're just another quirky part of who he is, just like how his older (and normally unflappable) sister is irrationally terrified of heights, and like how his younger sister has an oddly intense desire to study medicine.

He tries not to let it bother him.

* * *

Sometimes, Robin dreams of dragons.

She dreams of a giant black serpent with great feathery wings that blot out the sun. Crazed laughter echoes in her ears and her vision is clouded with red. Someone is at her side, steadying her as she sways and speaking worriedly to her. They reach towards her and she raises her hand to pull herself upright—and she stabs them, a brilliant white blade shooting through her companion's chest like a bolt of lightning.

She wakes covered in sweat and gasping, bewildered and terrified.

Some days are worse than others. On some days Robin is able to attend class at her university, bike around on her old blue bicycle, and go about her day like a normal, functioning human being. But occasionally Robin will have days where she jumps at the slightest sound and spends minutes on end staring at her right hand, fighting the irrational feeling that something is missing.

She resolves to sleep more and tries not to think about it.

* * *

When Chrom turned from the mural of the Exalt and the High Deliverer to see a silver-haired woman standing next to him, he was suddenly caught up with the strange desire to say _Finally, where have you been?_ and _It's good to see you,_ and _I've missed you,_ all at once. But thankfully, Chrom had just enough social tact to realize that saying any of the above to a total stranger would make him sound like a total lunatic, so instead he said, "Ah, are you here to see this painting too?"

And Robin nodded. She felt something in her _click_ , like she was hearing the words to an old, beloved song that she'd half-forgotten. But Robin had more than enough common sense to refrain from putting the feeling into words, so instead she said, "It's only here for a while, right?"

* * *

"What do you think happens when we die?" Robin said.

"Huh?" Chrom replied eloquently. After their impromptu meeting at the museum had ended, Chrom had turned to her and somewhat awkwardly said that he'd enjoyed talking to her and he knew that he was being weird, but he felt like they could be good friends, and was there any chance that they could meet again (platonically, of course) somewhere? And Robin, in a strange moment of apparent stupidity, had given an almost-stranger her _phone number_ and told him that she could only do weekends and Friday because she had class.

Chrom had gone home in disbelief that it had worked and half-convinced that the events of the afternoon had been a very realistic dream. Robin had gone home wondering if she had lost her mind.

And now the two of them are seeing movies and sitting on park benches feeding ducks together.

"Why do you ask?" Chrom said, throwing a crust of bread into the water, where it was set upon by five greedy-looking mallards. He felt vaguely uneasy, but couldn't explain why.

"Because if there's a hell," Robin said, idly scratching at the back of her hand, "I'm pretty sure I'll be forced to watch the _Knights of Ylisse_ movie over and over again for the rest of eternity."

"Oh my _god,"_ Chrom groaned, emptying his bag of crumbs into the lake. "That movie was _terrible._ "

"Yeah, I can't believe we spent twenty dollars and an entire afternoon to go see it," Robin said. The two of them do this sometimes—one of them starts a conversation and the two of them bounce thoughts off each other until they're both so worked up they're practically yelling. "I'm pretty certain that such revealing armor is neither historically accurate or practical—remember that wyvern rider? Her entire back was bare!"

"Speaking of historical accuracy, you know what I hated?" Chrom said, wiping his hands on his pants. "That stupid subplot with the High Deliverer sacrificing themselves to kill Grima. Where was that in the history books!? And Chrom—the Exalt, I mean, not _me_ —just stood by and _let them do it!_ If—if they were really such good friends, I think they should have tried something different."

Robin frowned. "I disagree. Even though the plot twist did come out of nowhere," she said. "I still think it was the best option and probably inevitable."

"No way."

"Yes way." Robin tossed her last scrap of bread into the water and turned to face him. "Okay, let's go along with this weird scenario and pretend everything in that movie actually happened. Look, we don't know a lot about the High Deliverer—we don't know their name or their personality or even their gender, but what all scholars and historians agree on was that they held the lives of their friends and comrades above all else. I don't think that kind of person would see any other real option besides the sacrifice."

"But they left behind those friends and comrades," Chrom argued, curling his hands into fists. "And Grima would have been killed anyways!"

"Yeah, but only for a thousand years, or whatever the convoluted condition the screenwriters put in was," Robin said impatiently, glaring at him with intense exasperation. "Imagine, if the High Deliverer hadn't sacrificed themselves, we'd be fighting Grima now with tanks and missiles and whatever."

The argument paused as both of them fell silent for a few seconds to contemplate the image that Robin had conjured. At their feet, a duck quacked.

"I wonder who would win," Chrom said slowly. "A evil dragon spirit or an aircraft carrier."

"I think you'd need more than one aircraft carrier to kill _Grima_ ," Robin said, resting her chin on her hand. Her eyes misted over as she stared off into the distance. "Maybe…I dunno, if you distracted it by hitting it from the air…maybe you could use drones, not airplanes, or else the pilots would all be killed…"

"Are you seriously cooking up a strategy to fight a one thousand year-old, probably fictional, evil dragon with drones?" Chrom said.

"No," Robin lied.

Chrom laughed, stretching lazily, and stood up. "Why are we actually arguing over this movie? Let's go," he said, offering Robin his hand and smiling at her. Robin took it and pulled herself up.

"A nuclear bomb could work," she said as the two of them began to stroll down the sunny pathway. "Maybe."

* * *

"Remind me again," Robin said, grumpily shaking damp sand out of her shoes for the fourth time, "why I'm here."

The salty sea wind ruffled Chrom's hair as he glanced down at her. He'd kicked off his shoes a while ago and was walking barefoot through the sand. "We're friends?" he suggested, picking up a seashell and idly examining it.

"Explicate," Robin said. She poured the last granules of sand out and slipped her shoes back on.

"Liz wanted to go to the beach with her _boyfriend_ ," Chrom said, spitting the last word out with a tone so sarcastic that Robin had to bite back a laugh. "And I couldn't let my little sister go off with a boy by herself, could I? Who knows what they'd get up to. I _had_ to come."

"And what about me?" Robin said.

Chrom hmmed thoughtfully, turning the seashell from side to side. "We're friends," he said eventually, satisfied with this answer.

Robin groaned. "Do our eternal and undying bonds of friendship mean I can drag you along to jury duty next week?"

"What—ack!" Chrom dropped the seashell. "There was something alive in there!"

Robin bent over and picked up the shell gingerly. "It's just a hermit crab, I think. So that's a yes to jury duty?"

"No thank you—I don't think that'd even be legal," Chrom said, carefully peering at the red-and-white shell in her hand. From the narrow opening, a set of small pincers emerged and the hermit crab peered back at him with beady black eyes.

"Too bad," Robin said. She set the crab down and they watched it scuttle away across the sand. "The case is hilarious. Apparently some guy broke into a bank and stole a boatload of cash. And the police didn't catch him." she snickered at the memory. "But he got caught on a security camera when he broke into a _candy shop_ an hour later." she glanced at him.

"Pretty funny," Chrom commented, picking up a long piece of driftwood. He waved it dramatically through the air like a sword. It was a ridiculous sight and the corners of Robin's mouth curved upwards. "Still," he said, planting the stick in the sand, "I don't think jury duty and a trip to the beach are the same. Jury duty's boring. Beaches are nice."

"Beaches are okay," Robin admitted. "It's a bit cold today."

Chrom glanced curiously at her. "It's not that bad."

Robin shrugged, pulling her coat more tightly about her and tugging her hood on over her head. "I never did well with the cold. My mother used to joke that I should have been born in a desert. Hey, is that a tide pool?"

Damp sand forgotten, Robin shuffled her way toward the rocks, egged on by the thought of poking at interesting animals. Chrom followed at a more sedate pace, glancing up every once in a while to keep a suspicious eye on Liz and her companion. He trailed the stick thoughtfully in the damp sand, absently digging it into the ground. Without really thinking about it, he began to scrawl large letters in the sand.

"Chrom! Chrom! Check it out!" Robin shouted, stomping over excitedly and holding a round-shelled…thing in her hands. "Look what I caught! Isn't it weird? Hey—" she cut the thought short and frowned, staring down at the sand as Chrom finished the last letter and propped the stick over his shoulder.

"Chrom & Robin Were Here," she read. "Huh. What inspired this?"

Chrom shook his head slowly. "I have no idea," he said. "I guess I thought it'd be fun."

Robin's thoughtful frown turned into an pleased grin. "I like it," she said decisively.

"Well," Chrom said, turning towards her. "I'm glad—oh dear god what is that thing!?" he shrieked, snapping the stick in two.

Robin looked at the ridge-shelled, slug-like animal in her hand. It curled up, very slowly. "I have no idea," she said.

* * *

The battle was at a turning point, both armies in the midst of a brutal and tense brawl. The next few action would surely decide the outcome of the fight: victory, or despair. No move could afford to be wasted. Robin's brow furrowed as she stared at the battlefield. She had to think this through very, very carefully.

"You've been stuck on that level for a long time," Chrom commented, peering over her shoulder to glance down at the DS she held in her hand. "Is it that hard of a game?"

Robin groaned and slumped deeper into the couch. "No," she said, staring determinedly at the screen. She pressed a few buttons, and a tiny pixel image of a soldier flitted over to the other side of the map. "But I'm trying to make it through the game with zero deaths."

Chrom attempted to somersault gracefully over the back of the couch and land beside where Robin was sitting. Of course, Chrom being Chrom, it was more of a slide than a somersault and he ended up on the ground.

"Ten out of ten," Robin commented. "The Olympics are missing a major talent. Ah, shit!" she cursed as a wave of hostile soldiers moved closer to her own army. The war was escalating. She watched in trepidation as one of her units was surrounded by no less than four enemies.

"How's it going?" Chrom said, clambering back up onto the sofa and craning his head to see the screen. He was just in time to see a beautifully rendered animation display the untimely death of one of Robin's units. She let out a yell of frustration, yanked the cartridge out of its slot, and threw it across the room.

"Ouch," Chrom said weakly.

"Everything. Was. Going. So. Well!" Robin exploded. Carefully, Chrom removed the DS from her grasp before she decided to throw it too. "This is—this is just unrealistically hard! I can only plan for events and enemies that would realistically happen, not something as stupid as three critical hits in a row!"

Chrom cast about for an appropriate response. His brain came up with absolutely nothing, so instead he settled for: "Can I try?"

Robin paused her rant and stared at him in surprise. "Have you played this game before?" she asked.

"No," Chrom admitted. "It seems fun, though—at least, when it's not being completely ridiculous," he added hastily, remembering at the last moment Robin's foul mood. "So can I give it a shot?"

"Sure, then," Robin said after a short pause, pushing herself up and walking to the other side of the room to pick up the cartridge. "Just be warned: I'm playing on the hardest difficulty, so things are…unfair." she tossed the cartridge at him, and he caught it easily.

"How bad can it be?" he said, slipping it into the slot.

Three minutes later, Chrom slammed his thumb into the power button and shoved the DS back at Robin.

"Wow," Robin said gingerly, taking it back. "I've, erm, never seen such…unorthodox tactics before."

Chrom groaned and flopped his head back. At least the embarrassment had been over quickly.

"You, uh…" Robin fidgeted and patted him on the arm in consolation. "You want to try again?"

"Never," Chrom said vehemently. It'd seemed like fun, until he'd ended his turn and realized just how out of his depth he was. "I'll leave the tactics to you, thanks."

* * *

The knife hadn't gone in too deep—thankfully, it'd only been a smallish knife and the attacker had missed the vitally important body parts. Still, it'd hurt like crazy, and Chrom had bled all over his favorite jacket. And nearly passed out. And had to be sent to the hospital. Where he was now, staring absently out the window with his upper torso smothered in bandages, with strict instructions not to move. His back itched, but swaddled as he was in layers of gauze, he couldn't even scratch it.

Well, he reflected, at least he hadn't died.

He heard footsteps in the hallway, approaching, then stopping outside his door. He perked up hopefully—maybe Liz or Emily had bought something for him to do.

The door slammed open. Robin strode into the room like an approaching thunderstorm, a look of mixed disbelief, concern, and frustration on her pale face. She stopped dead in her tracks and stared at him incredulously, one hand still clenching the doorknob tightly.

Never mind. Chrom was almost certainly going to die.

"Do you want to know something interesting?" Robin said in a deceptively calm voice. "You didn't call or text me for three days, which is strange because normally you feel compelled to tell me every single thing that happens to you. So I called your house and your butler picked up, and after I endured a twenty-minute long interrogation session, he finally decided I wasn't some psychotic stalker and deigned to tell me that _you were in the hospital because you'd been stabbed."_

"Uh," Chrom said. He wondered if he would make it if he dived out the window.

"But that isn't all!" Robin said, twirling a strand of hair around her finger and leaning against the doorframe. "But I ran into Liz just now, and she told me something even more interesting. She said that you'd run off into an alleyway when you heard the sounds of a struggle and tried to punch out a mugger. Who had a knife. With your bare fists."

"Yes," Chrom protested weakly, "yes, I did, but—"

 _"There is no but!"_ Robin exploded. "It was _stupid,_ Chrom!"

"Well, what was I supposed to have done?" Chrom replied loudly, raising himself upright in agitation. "Just stand by and let someone get mugged? Because I'd make the same decision again if it meant I could stop someone from getting hurt."

"You could have yelled for help before charging in. You could have called the police."

"That's not—" Chrom said heatedly. "Robin, that isn't—"

"Did you even stop to consider another option?" Robin snapped. "What if he'd had a gun? You literally could have been shot! You could have died, Chrom! Damn it, we've been over this already!"

Chrom paused. "We have?" he said, momentarily distracted.

Robin stopped, frowning. "Hold that thought," she muttered. "…actually, no, we haven't. Why did I think—?"

"Robin," Chrom said hastily, sensing an opening in Robin's verbal onslaught and springing to claim the advantage. "Look. If I see someone hurt or in need, then I'm going to help them. That's just who I am, and there's no changing it."

She stopped and stared at him, then gave a long sigh. "I know," she said more quietly. "…Hey. I shouldn't have yelled at you. It's your decision, and…it was a well-intentioned thing you did. Noble, some people might call it." she laughed, but it didn't reach her eyes. "Still. In the future, can you at least try to be more careful?"

"Alright, mom," Chrom joked half-heartedly. Robin smiled slightly.

"I, er, brought you something," she said after a pause, reaching into her bag. "To pass the time." she glanced up at him hopefully.

Chrom perked up noticeably. "What is it?"

Robin's smile turned into a full-fledged grin when she noticed the boyish excitement on his face. "I dunno," she said deliberately, "I could give it to you now, or I could wait…"

"Give it to me now!" Chrom said, sitting up as much as his injured shoulder would let him and staring at her pleadingly. "Come on, Robin. Please?"

"You are literally five years old," Robin said affectionately. "Here—" and she thrust a large hardcover book at him. Chrom took it gingerly and glanced at the cover. He did a double take.

"This is that book!" he sputtered. "The one we saw at the bookstore!"

"The one Liz and I had to drag you away from?" Robin said wryly. "Yeah, it's that book."

With slightly shaky hands Chrom caressed the cover. The front of the book showed a section of a breathtaking painted mural, the same mural that he and Robin had met in front of at the museum. The Exalt—Chrom's namesake—stood proudly, his white cape billowing in the wind and light glinting off the edge of the holy sword Falchion. By his side stood his loyal tactician, only remembered as the High Deliverer—pictured in a dark hood, with lightning snaking through their fingertips. The title was printed with bold letters: "AWAKENING: THE UNTOLD STORY OF YLISSE'S SHEPHERDS".

"I, uh, may have read it before I gave it to you," Robin admitted sheepishly. "It's a good book."

"I know!" Chrom said. He was already leafing through the pages in excitement. "Here, this is what I was reading when you and Liz arrived—they found some remnants of the High Deliverer's own logbook—look!" he held up the book. Robin smiled despite herself and pulled up a chair to sit beside him and peer over his shoulder.

Liz returned five minutes later to find the two of them staring at the pages and muttering about battlefield maneuvers. "Nerds," she declared affectionately.

* * *

The door opened, then shut.

"Home early?" Liz said, looking away from the television to glance up at her older brother. Chrom entered the room, hair ruffled, with a pensive expression on his face.

"Yeah," he said. He slung his bag off his shoulder and set it down.

"I thought you and Robin went fencing," said Liz.

Chrom nodded, frowning slightly. "Yeah, I didn't even know she fenced till she mentioned it. So we thought it'd be fun to spar with each other," he said. "But, uh, we stopped early." The television blared on in the background.

"Why?"

"I accidentally took a fencing jacket that was one size too small. It slipped up when I lifted my arm and she hit me in the side." he shrugged, looking slightly embarrassed. "I kinda fell over."

"You fell over!?" Liz said incredulously.

"I was surprised and tripped!" Chrom exclaimed. "Anyway, it hurt, but I was okay. Robin reacted weirdly, though."

"What'd she do?"

Chrom absently rubbed the growing bruise at his side, wincing at the soreness. "It was almost like she was scared. By the way she was apologizing, you'd think she thought that she killed me or something."

* * *

A/N: I felt like exploring the more light-hearted side of this Robin's dynamic with Chrom. It was really fun.

In case anyone is wondering, the animal Robin found is called a chiton! I found a huge one in a tide pool once and it was super weird.


	13. Chapter 13: 100 Review Special

**A/N: PLEASE READ THIS AUTHOR'S NOTE!**

Thank you. I thought I just ought to warn anyone who is picking this story up for the first time: this chapter was written to celebrate 100 reviews and is kind of a gift to the readers who have stuck with me. It is important to note that **you will not really appreciate this chapter if you haven't read all of the previous chapters and haven't met all the versions of Robin.**

This is probably the most self-indulgent thing I've written. I'm simultaneously proud of it and horrified at the same time. I'd really, **really** appreciate feedback. I wrote half of this a good six months ago, and another half just now, so I have no idea if the style shifts abruptly or if the writing/idea is even good at all. But I'm really tired and I'm uploading this because it's done.

That being said, thank you to everyone who's read this story (that means you!), and a special thank you to everyone who's stuck with this story from the beginning!

* * *

Chrom's smile faded as soon as he stepped away from the balcony and into the privacy of the castle, away from the rejoicing crowds. He slipped his cloak off his shoulders and peeled off his gloves with shaking hands. His eyes felt sore and bloodshot, his shoulder sagging with weariness. The numbness that had crept over him after Grima's defeat was slowly ebbing away, leaving a desperate sense of loss in its wake.

 _Robin…_ Chrom clenched his fists until his nails dug red crescent-moon marks into the palm of his hand. Robin was gone. His best friend, his partner, his other half, was gone.

"Robin," he murmured, shaking slightly, alone in the dim light of the darkened room. "You…"

 _He lied to me._

He staggered over to his bed, collapsing into the soft blankets and mattress. He didn't want to move, he didn't want to _think_ anymore—he wanted to sleep and fade into oblivion. Anything to stop the storm of grief whirling inside him. Anything to stop his thoughts from wandering towards the image seared into his memory: Robin, smiling through tears and fading into nothingness.

A muffled shout rose in his throat and he buried his head in his pillow. The final battle against Grima had been a victory. But it had also been a crushing defeat.

After what seemed like hours, his exhausted body won out over his mind, and he slept.

* * *

 _Chrom dreams._

 _He dreams that he is walking through the silent halls of his castle. His footsteps echo on the stone floors. Ancient Exalts, long gone, stare at him with dead eyes from their painted frames. He is alone._

 _"Chrom! You listening to me?"_

 _Not alone. Chrom is startled and turns, an apology already half-formed on his lips, then stops as a jolt of shock surges through him._

 _It's Robin._

 _But it's not_ _Robin_ _. Because Robin didn't have yellow hair and he definitely didn't keep it up in a ponytail, nor was he quite so tall. The voice is off and the face is off and the purple-lined, dark coat is the only objective sign that this is Robin in any way. But Chrom realizes that it i_ _s_ _Robin somehow, in a strange, almost disturbing way that he can't quite explain._

 _"What?" he manages to get out, deeply disturbed and thoroughly bewildered._

 _Robin snorts and elbows him in the ribs. Chrom leans away. "I was TALKING, you idiot blueberry," he says. Chrom frowns at the nickname—it feels odd, like it simultaneously was and was not meant for him. "Are you not getting enough sleep or something? Do I need to tie you to the bed?"_

 _"Wh—no, you do not need to tie me to the bed!" Chrom protests almost automatically. He should be more suspicious or at least a bit uncomfortable with this strange dream, where he is talking to someone who is Robin and not-Robin at the same time. But this yellow-haired, scowling Robin's banter distracts him, throws him off, and he ignores how easily it comes to him._

 _"If I got Sully to do it you might not complain," Robin says, waggling his eyebrows meaningfully._

 _Caught off guard again, Chrom chokes on his breath. "What? No!"_

 _"Why? Do you not go for the redheads?" Robin tsks. "Who would expect the famous Prince Chrom to be so shallow? And should you of all people really be criticizing people's hair color?"_

 _"You are just—you are just awful," Chrom retorts lamely, lost for words._

 _"And you're a blueberry."_

 _"Don't call me a blueberry!"_

 _"Gaius calls you 'Blue', I don't see what the difference is—"_

 _"I don't even_ _like_ _blueberries!" Chrom says childishly, throwing up his arms in frustration._

 _Robin tips his head back and laughs raucously, and Chrom feels elated and sad at the same time. Why do I feel sad? he he remembers: Robin is dead, he'd sacrificed himself to slay Grima, and now Chrom is dreaming of him—dreaming of a person who is both foreign and familiar, and yet is undeniably_ _Robin_ _, in a different shell._

 _"Who are you?" he says suddenly._

 _Robin frowns. "Huh?"_

 _"Who are you?" Chrom repeats, suddenly uncertain and desperate. "You're—you're Robin but you're not Robin, how—"_

 _"You okay?" Robin says slowly. "How hard did you hit your head when we got into that fight in the food tent?"_

 _"I'M okay! You're the one who's DEAD!" Chrom shouts, and Robin's eyes grow wide and the halls spin around them, Chrom's feet buckle beneath him and he's falling—_

* * *

"Chrom? Chrom!"

"Wh—nngk—what?" Chrom muttered, rising through the fog of sleep clouding his thoughts. He opened his eyes blearily and Lissa's concerned face swam into view.

"It's morning, and—and we were worried because you still hadn't come out of your room. I came in and you were thrashing around in your sleep so I woke you up—"

"I was dreaming," Chrom said suddenly, sitting up. "Robin was there."

Lissa shut her mouth and stared at him.

"Robin was there—but he wasn't Robin?" Chrom continued, frowning. "He was different but he was still _Robin,_ if that makes sense—never mind, it doesn't. What was going on?"

Lissa carefully reached over and touched him on the arm.

"Chrom," she said quietly, "are you feeling okay?"

"Yes," Chrom said automatically, then flinched as he saw the look on Lissa's face, a look that was sad and knowing and too _old_ for his little sister to wear.

"No, I'm not," he mumbled.

How could he be? How could any of them be?

* * *

The day passed in a blur. The post-war period, apparently, was going to be even more complicated and busy than the war itself. Homeless citizens to relocate, treaties to sign, meetings to attend…

 _Robin would have made sense of it all,_ Chrom thought, tuning out a particularly boorish census taker. _He liked this sort of thing. We could have done it together._

By the time Chrom returned to his room, the moon was high in the sky and his mind was a misty mess of weariness and grief. He kicked off his boots and fell into bed.

He'd almost forgotten about the dream from the previous night.

* * *

 _Chrom dreams._

 _Again?_

 _In his dream, Robin is a woman. Her (and isn't that strange, Chrom thought) hair is dark brown and cropped neatly at her shoulder. But she wears the same purple-lined coat and the same confidence shines in her eyes. And she is talking. Loudly. Chrom is about to lean back and groan in bewilderment until he catches the first few words of her rant._

 _"And so then that Duchess—Wister-something-or-the-other—told me I didn't know what I was talking about, so I just told her to stuff it," she says with a vindictive glee. "You should've seen the look on her face!"_

 _The satisfaction in her voice and the strangeness of the situation (Robin, a woman?) sets Chrom off. He laughs._

 _"Democracy has its merits, I'm telling you," Robin says, picking at the railing of the balcony the two of them are leaning on. "Although maybe not. I don't want my vote or your vote to have the same weight as someone like Duchess Wister—Wieser—what's her name again?"_

 _"Wisteria," Chrom replies. This is even stranger than last night's dream. The Robin he knows is most definitely not a woman, but this Robin wears the tactician's coat like a second skin and her eyes shine with the same lively light, and somehow this feels familiar, like he is performing the steps to a dance he'd danced long ago._

 _"That's it!" Robin snaps her fingers. "But yes, she was angry, all right. She puffed up. Like a bullfrog. Look, sort of like this—" and Robin frowns, puffing out her cheeks with an intense look of stuffy agitation on her face._

 _Chrom breaks. He leans against the balcony and laughs, trying to muffle his laughter with one hand but failing terribly. "Stop it," he pleads, turning away from her. "Naga, my stomach hurts."_

 _Robin holds her expression for a few seconds more, seemingly just to spite him, then relaxes._

 _Chrom exhales shakily, trying to stifle his amusement. "It's been a while I laughed like that," he confesses. "It's been a while since I last laughed." He remembers the way Robin, his Robin, had faded into nothingness and saddens instantly. A chill runs through him. Why is he dreaming about this? Have the gods deemed the grief he has to deal with in his waking hours insufficient, and decided to torment him at night, too? He groans, lowering his head. He was so stupid, he should have reached out and pulled Robin away before he'd fired the spell, should have done_ _something_ _—_

 _"Okay, wait, you're actually upset." Robin says. Her eyes narrow. "Are you okay? Do you need me to yell at someone for you? Or did_ _I_ _say something? It wasn't me, right?"_

 _"It wasn't you," Chrom says, running a hand through his hair and sighing. "It was you but it wasn't—Naga, Robin, why did you have to leave?"_

 _Robin frowns. "What?"_

 _"No, sorry, I shouldn't ask you, it wasn't really you," Chrom apologizes. He feels his hands begin to shake. "This is so strange—are you Robin or not? You shouldn't be, you can't be, but you_ _are_ _—what is going on!? Why am I here!?" he shouts, clenching his hands into fists._

 _"Are you drunk or something?" Robin says in disbelief. "Look, while I am not against alcohol consumption, I_ _am_ _in favor of healthy lifestyle choices—"_

 _"Who ARE you!?" Chrom roars. He's fed up with this illusion, with this woman who is Robin but is not Robin, who is a total stranger and yet can make him laugh until his sides ache. There's a nagging feeling of of familiarity, a feeling that he_ _should_ _know her, but he doesn't—how could he possibly know her?_

 _"What are you talking about? I'm Robin!" she says loudly._

 _"No, you're NOT!" Chrom snarls in denial and shakes his head furiously, the world spinning around him—_

 _BAM._

* * *

Chrom jolted awake, not on his bed but on the floor, tangled in the bedsheets. He had fallen out of bed in his sleep. His head was pressed up against the floor and his shoulder hurt from where it had impacted the hard ground.

"Damn!" he muttered, wiggling one leg out of the constricting sheets and hopping clumsily as he tried to free his arms. "Damn it, damn, damn!"

He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. His hair was mussed and stuck out in all different directions, his eyes bloodshot and tired. He didn't look like a king. He didn't feel like one, either.

 _I had a dream about Robin,_ he thought dazedly as he managed to unravel the sheets from around him. _Except Robin was a woman. So it wasn't Robin. But it was?_

 _"_ Am I going crazy?" he asked his mirror. The mirror didn't reply.

 _If this is Naga's idea of compensation,_ he reflected bitterly as he stepped towards his dresser to pull on his cloak, _it's very poor compensation indeed._

* * *

Weeks passed. No more dreams about Robin, blonde, female, or otherwise, came. Chrom was simultaneously relieved and disturbed, as if there was something missing that he couldn't name.

Exactly two months after Grima fell and Robin died, Chrom stumbled across Gaius in the castle kitchens. The orange-haired thief sat slumped in a chair with his feet propped up on a table, dumping glasses of sweet, golden mead with a strange, single-minded determination.

"Gaius," Chrom greeted.

"Blue," Gaius said through a mouthful of mead.

"I'm not a blueberry," Chrom said automatically, then wondered where that had come from.

Gaius stared at him, opened his mouth, closed it again, and turned away. "Uhh, never said you were," he mumbled. Then he took another gulp of mead.

Chrom sighed and pulled out a chair. "What are you doing?"

"Getting—I'm getting drunk," Gaius replied absently.

Chrom stared at him as he sat down. A lot of the Shepherds had left after Grima had been slain. Lon'qu had returned to Regna Ferox. Libra and Maribelle had departed Ylisstol to open their orphanage. Henry had…disappeared. But others had remained. Like Donnel, who occasionally tagged along during Chrom's searches in hopes of finding the tactician he so admired, or Tharja, who lingered gloomily over the castle like a sinister storm cloud, and Gaius, who for all his self-serving thievery, still couldn't seem to get over the loss of his close friend. The tactician and the thief had an odd but strong friendship. Chrom remembered a period of time when Gaius would tail Robin around the barracks, offering him sweets and trinkets. When Chrom had asked, Robin had rolled his eyes and muttered something quickly but not quickly enough, because Chrom managed to catch "mumble-mumble-stupid thief the bath tent has an 'occupied' sign for a reason".

Chrom had laughed at Robin for walking in on Gaius. Ironically, a week later he no longer had the right to do so, after a certain incident that involved Robin throwing a bar of soap at him and calling him a slack-jawed village idiot. Although in his defense there _had_ been a lot of steam, and the tactician's reaction had been— _damn it,_ he was thinking about Robin _again._

He swallowed the lump in his throat and reached for the bottle. "Count me in."

"Thatsh—" Gaius took another swig and watched Chrom pour himself a glassful of the golden drink. "Urm, you're th'exalt. 's not a good idea."

"No, it's not," Chrom said tiredly. He knocked back the glass. "Naga, this tastes sweet."

"I know," Gaius said. "That's the point."

"This is a terrible idea," Chrom agreed, and refilled his glass.

The rest of the night was a haze. Chrom vaguely remembered a few other Shepherds joining them. He remembered Sully mumbling out a story about seaweed, Virion drunkenly mapping out chess formations with spoons and pepper shakers, and Vaike yelling something like: "That blasted horse! It was grinning! Like a rabid crocodile!"

He finally, finally, fell asleep listening to a sniffling Donnel's description of the fish he caught with the fish-hook Robin had made, wondering somewhat guiltily if sealing Grima for a thousand years was really such a terrible option.

* * *

 _Chrom dreams._

 _He dreams he is walking through a strange, roaring city. The buildings are tall and shine in the light as if they are made of glass, the ground at his feet is not paved with rough, uneven cobblestone but an oddly smooth and gray material. Metallic, four-wheeled carriages whizz past him on the road, roaring and racing at speeds faster than should be possible. People in all sorts of strange, stiff-looking garments hurry past him. The chaotic, foreign surroundings manage to stun Chrom in a way none of the other dreams have stunned him before. His heart pounds in his ears and he stumbles. Someone is ahead of him, tugging him by the hand and talking amiably._

 _"Okay, so I guess it wasn't the usual place for a date but it's better than IKEA at least—"_

 _Chrom catches a glimpse of a dark coat lined with purple. "—_ _Robin_ _!?" he sputters. "Where—what—"_

 _But that's all he manages to get out, because the alien surroundings and clamor make Chrom's stomach lurch and head spin, and he falls to his knees as the world tumbles down around him—_

* * *

Chrom jerked awake, head pounding and ears ringing. His mouth was dry and his eyes fuzzy. He tried to sit up, but his body failed him and he slowly slumped back down into his pillow. He had clearly drunk too much the last night, if the splitting headache he had was any indication. He tried to sit up again. He got dizzy.

"Sorry, lady-Robin," he muttered, slumping back onto his pillow. "I don't think this counts as a responsible life choice."

Then the reality of the situation hit him: he was sprawled on his bed, hung-over, and apologizing to some female version of Robin he had met in a dream.

A few minutes later, Frederick walked in the room. Most mornings Chrom had to drag himself out of bed by imagining Robin's voice telling him that he was the Exalt and had to be functional, yes, even if he missed him. It worked more often than not, but when it didn't, Frederick took it upon himself to step in. This morning, the knight was quite surprised to see Chrom lying on his back and giggling up at the ceiling.

"Milord," he said. It was a voice that contained a reprimand, an expression of disbelief, and a hint of concern all at once.

"Sorry," Chrom gasped, managing to sit up. "What is an ai-kee-yuh anyways?"

Frederick stared at him. And decided not to comment.

* * *

Years passed. Ylisse began to recover, slowly but surely. The knights flourished under Frederick's leadership. Stahl and Cordelia were married on a cloudless sunny day, and Cordelia had looked Chrom in the eye for the first time and smiled when he stepped forward to congratulate them. One day, Lissa walked into Chrom's office, stared straight at him, and said she wanted to travel the world. And Chrom had looked at his sister, determined and confident and _grown-up_ —and approved, although he wasn't stupid enough to think that his opinion would have stopped Lissa from traveling all the way to Chon'sin if she really wanted to.

And the world slowly moved forward, and Chrom was doing well, told himself that he was doing well, until—

* * *

 _Chrom dreams._

 _He dreams of a breezy summer day and a bustling market; of himself, ducking through the crowds incognito in a plain cloak and tunic. He barely has enough time to think: 'Oh, Naga, this again?' before Robin springs up at his side out of nowhere, beaming at him._

 _"Finally! You're here!" Robin exclaims. "Come on, come on. I gotta show you something."_

 _"What?" Chrom blinks dumbly._

 _"I've got an idea," Robin says in excitement. Chrom is suddenly assaulted by a vague feeling of dread. "It's a great idea. And it's a real idea this time. Are you ready?" The small, white-haired tactician is practically bouncing up and down._

 _"No," Chrom says automatically._

 _"Great, let's go," Robin says cheerily, tugging at his arm. "Come on. Don't make me sing the banana song."_

 _The foreign feeling of dread washes upon him him again. It's a strange sensation, like his mind is telling him that this is what he should be feeling, but Chrom can't imagine why. He feels a vague flicker of annoyance. This isn't his Robin, this isn't his life—why should he have to feel anything? Where is it all coming from?_

 _So he squashes down the feelings that aren't his own and asks, "why, what's the banana song?"_

 _Robin looks at him strangely for a second, then grins an impossibly wide grin. "Remember? It goes like this—"_

 _A minute later, Chrom is dragging Robin along by the arm, saying hurriedly: "Oh yes, I remember now, come on, let's go, show me your great idea."_

 _And thankfully Robin complies, whistling the rest of the tune absentmindedly and leading the two of them down the crowded market streets. They walk quietly for a while, bumping into the other market-goers occasionally. Chrom mutters quick apologies. Robin cheerfully does the same until a grumpy-looking woman with a basket full of apples tells the white-haired tactician to "watch where you're going". Then Robin trips her, and Chrom has more apologizing to do._

 _"There is an ancient Plegian proverb," Robin says wisely, staring off into the distance as soon as the woman is out of earshot. "So a man sows, so shall he reap."_

 _"Mmm-hmm," Chrom grumbles, carefully shepherding Robin away from the crowds before any more metaphorical sowing and reaping can happen._

 _"Also known as 'talk shit, get hit.'"_

 _"You made that up," Chrom says._

 _"You believed it," Robin counters. "Just for a bit. But you did. Hey, this is nice, y'know." Seeing Chrom's questioning glance, Robin moves to clarify: "It beats sitting cooped up in the castle and filing papers."_

 _"It is nice," Chrom agrees. "It's been a while since I've been so relaxed." With a sudden pang, he realizes that it's true. There's been so much for him to do, and he's had to do it all alone. And Chrom still wants, still needs Robin—his Robin—with him._

 _"What is going on?" Chrom murmurs out loud._

 _And then he remembers that he's still in this dream, and the Robin next to him—white-haired, small, and bright-eyed—turns and stares at him. "What'd you say?"_

 _Chrom groans and shoves his head in his hands. "I think I'm going mad. Just slightly."_

 _"Whoa. Uh…" Robin sounds slightly panicked. "Is this my fault? I can stop singing, I swear—"_

 _Chrom glances up. The tactician looks like an apologetic puppy and he immediately feels guilty. "It wasn't you," he says quickly. "I don't even know how many Robins it's been at this point, but none of them are really_ _you,_ _do you see?...I'm not making sense, aren't I." he finishes lamely._

 _Robin stares at him with a dumbfounded, vaguely fearful expression. The dream is slowing down, growing fuzzy, just as it had done the times before when Chrom had forced himself to an awakening. He's going to wake up soon, in his bedroom in Ylisstol, and go about his day, sitting in meetings and filing papers while cooped up in the castle—_

 _And suddenly he's annoyed with himself. He doesn't have to stop now. It probably counts as the worst form of escapism out there, but Chrom has been through wars and conquest and stared a fell dragon right in the eyes, and he thinks that somewhere along the line he's earned the right to indulge himself in a dream if he wants to._

 _"Sorry," he says hastily, determined not to rock the boat. He's going to see this till the end. It's interesting, if nothing else. "I'm fine. I was just…rambling." Robin still doesn't look convinced, so he hastily adds: "You were going to show me your idea?"_

 _Robin starts. "Oh, right! Wow, I keep forgetting." The brightness of the tactician's smile seems to spur the dream back into life. "Okay, so you know how wyverns—"_

* * *

 _"What_ are you humming?" Sully shouted suddenly. "That is the most annoying crap I have ever heard in my life!"

Chrom blinked, startled. "Uh, nothing much," he said apologetically. "Sorry, I was just thinking about a dream I had."

Sully scoffed but calmed slightly. "Good dream?" she asked gruffly.

"Yes," Chrom replied cheerfully, remembering how he'd laughed so hard he'd woken up. He smiled slightly, and Sully glanced at him in surprise. "You could say that."

And maybe Naga or his subconscious or whatever is sending him these dreams takes that as a good sign, because a few nights later—

* * *

 _Chrom dreams._

 _He dreams of a medical tent, the air thick with the smell of ointment. He dreams of another Robin, long hair draped about his face and shoulders, lying prone on one of the cots, and moaning loudly in apparent agony._

 _"Robin," he gasps, and steps forward. Then he falters._

 _Despite the fact that he had (as Robin once put it) the social acuity of a box of rocks, Chrom is not, in fact, a stupid person. Given the right information, he can make connections as well as the next person. And despite the apparent randomness of his dreams, he has managed to come to a few conclusions. One of them is that, most of the time, what his subconscious tells him he should be feeling is usually the right way to feel. And right now, his gut is telling him that he doesn't have to be concerned. In fact, he should probably be annoyed._

 _"…what is it?" he asks eventually._

 _Robin raises his head up to stare blearily at Chrom. "I'm languishing," he moans, flopping back onto his pillow after an apparent loss of strength. "This is the end, I fear. There'll be no more soldiering for me."_

 _The tent flap opens and Libra walks in, smiling when he sees Chrom. "Ah, sire!" he says._

 _"Libra," Chrom greets, interested. He hasn't dreamed of another person besides Robin before "What's wrong with Robin?"_

 _"I'm suffering," Robin repeats, draping his arm over his face._

 _"You have a cold," Libra says._

 _"I feel an icy chill upon me," Robin continues. "My eyes. My nose. They burn."_

 _"If you had not insisted on staying in the rain—" Libra begins testily, then closes his eyes briefly and stops himself. "My apologies, sire," he says after catching Chrom's surprised glance at him. He continues to watch Libra as he moves towards a table and begin to mix medicine. He doesn't think he's ever seen the serene, unflappable monk so obviously annoyed before._

 _"My throat feels as if it is being raked with knives," Robin rasps, ignoring him. "I can barely speak."_

 _Chrom did a double-take as he heard Libra say faintly, but distinctly, "Thank Naga."_

 _"If I don't make it, Chrom," Robin says quietly, peering at him, "tell my wife I love her."_

 _Chrom's subconscious prods at him again._

 _"You don't have a wife," he says automatically. Then he wonders how he knows._

 _"I_ _know_ _," Robin groans. "It's a shame."_

 _"Or one of Naga's small mercies," Libra comments innocuously as he heads their way. "Drink this." he hands Robin a cup of murky liquid._

 _Robin sits up, takes a sip, and nearly chokes. "This is vile!" he exclaims, staring wide-eyed at Libra. "You're poisoning me!"_

 _"Drink it, Robin," Chrom says, taking pity on Libra._

 _"I—"_

 _"That's an order," Chrom says, using the firmest commander voice he can muster. Robin opens his mouth, closes it, then sighs as he brings the cup to his mouth again._

 _"Betrayed by my closest friend," he mumbles, glaring up at Chrom._

 _"Sorry," Chrom says, even though he doesn't feel very sorry._

 _"This is tyranny," Robin says, then tips the contents of the cup down his throat. "Blech! Gagh!" He thrusts the empty cup at Libra, who takes it with a sigh and leaves the room._

 _Chrom sighed and slumped into a chair by the side of the bed. This Robin's face is different, slightly younger and softer than the Robin that Chrom knows. His hair isn't silver, but black and long. It falls into his eyes in soft waves. He is reasonably handsome, but the effect is slightly offset by the dramatic moans he is making._

 _"I'm going to die, Chrom," Robin says. Chrom jumps in his seat. Robin, oblivious, continues on. "The cruel hand of Fate has conspired against me to end my life here. Tell everyone I loved them."_

 _"That's not funny," Chrom says suddenly. Robin blinks and turns towards him, the facade of agony disappearing from his face._

 _"…sorry?" he says eventually, looking slightly wary. "Is something the matter?"_

 _Chrom exhales and leans back in his chair. The dream is a realistic one—even the texture of the tent canvas is as he remembers. Outside, he can hear the Shepherds milling about—training, cooking, laughing and talking. It's a life he can't ever have again. He closes his eyes, recalling the freedom he had when he was only the leader of the Shepherds and not the Exalt. "No, I'm sorry for snapping. What you said…about fate, and death…it upset me." Even without opening his eyes, he knows that Robin is staring at him._

 _"I don't really believe that, you know," Robin says quietly. Chrom blinks open his eyes and lifts his head. This black-haired, melodramatic version of Robin, appears to be serious (for once)._

 _"Then what do you believe?" Chrom asks._

 _Robin hums, tapping his fingers as he thinks. His pale eyes stare into the distance. "I don't believe in destiny," he says eventually. "We're not pawns of some scripted fate. I believe we're more. Much more. There's something between us all. Something that keeps us together. Like...invisible…" he trails off, brow furrowed in thought._

 _Chrom's eyes widen as he leans forward. This dream is giving him something that he desperately wants to hear. Is this a message? From Naga? From Robin?_

 _"Invisible what?" he says._

 _Robin turns to him again and opens his mouth to respond. But Chrom doesn't get to hear the end, because—_

* * *

"Milord? Milord?"

Chrom jerked back into consciousness _._ He was in his bed again. Frederick was standing over him, shaking his shoulder urgently.

"You have a meeting with the council, milord," he said by way of explanation, although there was a hint of apology in his voice. "I believe you should have risen more than ten minutes ago—" he was cut off by Chrom, who groaned and buried his head in his pillow.

"Just a few more seconds!" he said despairingly. "Frederick, why—why couldn't you have waited a few more seconds?"

Of course, the end result is that Chrom spent the entirety of the council meeting thinking about what an alternate version of Robin, from a dream of all things, had said to him. Even though he was supposed to be listening to a debate about tariffs on imports from Chon'sin.

 _Something that keeps us together?_ he mulled the thought over. Robin—his Robin—had said something similar once, although he hadn't explained his idea nearly so dramatically.

 _Are the gods trying to tell me that Robin is somehow still alive?_

But Chrom had seen Robin die, seen him disintegrate into small specks that blew away in the wind as Grima perished with a final roar.

 _This,_ he thought as he rested his head on his hands and watched some lord waffle away about the importance of fixing some minor fault in the city walls, _is definitely the strangest situation I've been in. Even stranger than the time we fought Risen in a hot spring. Or the time we fought Einherjar and one of them insisted that she recognized Robin. Or the time we traveled to the future._

 _I've been in many strange situations,_ he conceded. But at least Robin had been with him for all of them.

In any case, if Robin—and by this he meant the melodramatic Robin from his dream—was right, then maybe they would be united again. Was that why he was receiving these dreams in the first place? Was it an omen? Or just a fool's hope?

Chrom nodded vaguely at a question one of his retainers asked him, not paying nearly as much attention as he was pretending to.

Even if it was a fool's hope, it was all he had.

* * *

 _Chrom dreams._

 _He is standing in front of a giant painted mural. His clothes are strange: a jacket and shirt with too-neat stitches and pants made out of a blue, tight material. To distract himself from the strange fabric, he glances up at the enormous painting in front of him and nearly chokes with shock. His own face stares back at him from the canvas. The mural depicts the last stand of the Shepherds against the Fell Dragon. Whoever had painted it had done a very good job, almost perfectly captured what he'd felt at the moment before the Shepherds clashed with Grima—fear and hope and determination. And beside the version of Chrom in the painting stands Robin, with a hood over his face and lightning crackling around his hands. The artist had drawn, under the tactician's hood, a very faint trace of a smile. Chrom stands there for quite a long time, staring at the painting, remembering the horrible screeches of the dragon and the endless clash of blades and steel._

 _"The history books never said what happened after this battle," someone says. Chrom turns to see yet another Robin—silver-haired and female, dressed in clothes as foreign as his own—standing next to him. Despite the strangeness of her attire, one thing is similar: the black coat she wears, although it is shorter and made of a softer-looking fabric, has the same purple markings, gold edges, and soft hood that are so familiar to him._

 _"Didn't they?" Chrom says, crossing his arms and turning toward the painting again. This doesn't feel like the Ylisse he knows. History books, she had said? About the battle with Grima? Is he dreaming of a different time then, one long after his own? Has he gone forward in time, just as Lucina had gone back? That would explain how_ _weird_ _his surroundings are. The bright light that fills the windowless room seems too steady, too white to come from torches and he glances about for a light source._

 _Robin speaks again, bringing his attention back to her. "I did some research. Historians couldn't find much about what happened to the High Deliverer after the battle. It's like they just…disappeared." she scoffs. "That's what the historians think, anyways."_

 _"You don't agree?" Chrom asks absently. He is still examining the painting._

 _"No," Robin says so resolutely that he stares at her. "I don't think they would have left their friends."_

 _"That's what I thought too," Chrom mutters._

 _"But," she continues, and now she turns towards him, a strange light in her eyes as she grins. "Even if the Exalt and the High Deliverer were separated, I think they would find a way back to each other."_

 _Chrom feels his heart skip a beat. He's waking up now—he must have spent more time staring at the mural than he thought. "I hope so," he says just as everything flutters into pieces. "Naga, I hope so."_

* * *

Chrom's vague nod at the council meeting turned out to be more trouble than he'd expected.

"What do you mean I agreed to a potential marriage?" he hissed. Frederick shook his head in exasperation.

"I tried to warn you of the council's plan, milord," the knight stated. "You ignored every one of my attempts."

Groaning, Chrom buries his head in his hands. He'd known that his distraction would have consequences eventually, although he'd never anticipated this.

"Milord," Frederick said, in a tired voice. "The council is demanding that you choose a partner to rule Ylisse with. They want you to produce an heir."

"I already have a partner," Chrom said stubbornly.

 _"_ I know that," Frederick said.

"Then why are you—"

"I'm not the one who wants this for you," Frederick reminded him with a slight sternness.

He sighed, running his fingers through his hair. "I'm sorry."

Head in his hands, Chrom missed Frederick's look of pity. "Milord," he said. "If you do not wed, the council will likely demand that Lissa return from her travels to wed and produce an heir."

"What? No!" said Chrom. Not Lissa—she was so happy away from the stifling customs and duties that Ylisstol demanded. Her letters to him were filled with cheerful retellings of strange sights, rollicking adventures, and new friendships. If she was to return—

"I won't do that to her," he said.

"I thought as much. Then the council awaits your prompt response, milord," said Frederick.

"Stall them," Chrom demanded, heart racing. "Stall them—I can't and I won't—"

 _"_ I'll try, lord." Frederick turned to leave the room, but hesitated and stopped at the doorway. "I'm sorry," he said, in a soft voice.

The door shut. Chrom made a quiet, despairing sound.

Dreaming had helped him forget, but this was how things actually were. Robin was still dead, Chrom was still alone, and now he was going to be wed to a near-stranger that the council picked out for him. Suddenly taken by a fit of anger, he stood up and began to pace about the room. Robin! Why did he leave? Why did he have to sacrifice himself, to be so _selfless—_

Chrom stopped dead in his tracks. Selfless. If Robin was selfless, enough to forsake his own life for the sake of the world a thousand years later, and Chrom couldn't even bear to remarry…

Did that make him _selfish?_

 _"_ Damn it," he muttered, running a hand through his hair.

* * *

 _Chrom dreams._

 _He dreams of a wedding on a sunny spring day. He is dressed in stiff ceremonial clothing and it feels awkward to move, but his heart lifts when he notices an auburn-haired woman beside him that he instinctively knows is Robin. He lifts his hand automatically to wave at the cheering crowd from the balcony they stand on._

 _"I can't believe this," she whispers to him. She looks slightly uncomfortable in her extravagant dress, but she's grinning widely all the same. "I—we just got_ _married_ _, I—wow. This is…"_

 _Chrom laughs fondly despite himself. An unexpected surge of happiness rises in his chest._

 _"Gods, I forgot to thank Panne," Robin muttered. "And Lissa, and Miriel and Maribelle…"_

 _"What have they got to do with this?" he asked curiously._

 _"Nothing!" Robin squeaks, turning a lovely shade of pink. Chrom turns his head to gaze back down at the cheering crowd and the dream shifts and changes…_

 _He is standing on the same balcony, but this time it's night. There is no moon. Robin is standing beside him, but there is a noticeable distance between them. This time, Robin is white-haired and wears her distinctive hooded coat, but she looks even more uncomfortable than the previous Robin had been in the over-extravagant dress._

 _"…and I've already arranged the meeting with Khan Flavia," she's saying, and he notices the dark circles under her eyes. "I had to move the council's debate to a later date, but in all honesty there's probably no harm done there." she exhaled slightly. "Oh, and I annotated and left the report on the Plegian insurgents on your desk, so don't panic if you can't find it."_

 _"Thank you," Chrom says, surprised. "But—ah, you look tired." Robin's shoulders stiffen. Although this Robin is different than his own, he knows the tactician well enough to recognize the signs of stress, and he continues gently: "get some rest."_

 _Robin lowers her head and kneads at her temples with one hand. "I'll be fine, milord," she says._

 _"What?" Chrom frowns, taken completely by surprise._

 _"What is what?"_

 _"Why did you call me that?"_

 _Robin turns away from him. He can't see her expression. "Milord," she says in a strained voice. "I thought we agreed that it would be best to keep the proper amount of distance between us." she speaks in a formal, slightly awkward way, as if she's not used to speaking to him like this—and why should she be? Of all the things Chrom has ever asked Robin to do for him, deference was not one of them._

 _"Robin, what's wrong?" Chrom asks, concerned. He reaches out to grasp her arm, but she pulls away._

 _"You should retire," she says, gritting her teeth. "Your wife will worry."_

 _Ah. He lets his arm fall, silently cursing the Chrom of this world for letting Robin go._

 _Robin turns to leave, but glances back at him. "Congratulations," she says in a soft voice, "on the birth of your heir, milord."_

 _She leaves through the doorway, and he watches her go._

* * *

"Your answer?"

"No," Chrom said. "I won't do it."

This, of course, ended up raising all kinds of havoc. Chrom, rather selfishly, thought it was worth it. But it wasn't as satisfying as he thought it would be.

He was so _tired_ of everything.

* * *

 _Chrom dreams._

 _He is standing in an empty, shadowy void. He looks up, then down, then to the side. There is nothing surrounding him but darkness and silence._

 _"Chrom?"_

 _Oh. He had forgotten to look behind him. He whirls around. Kneeled in the shadows and staring up at him is another strange-yet-familiar Robin. This Robin is tall and slender, with short but beautiful azure hair, and he's staring at Chrom with such a bewildered and heartbroken expression on his face that Chrom's heart clenches a little and he reaches out a hand in pity._

 _"Yes?" he replies. The blue-haired tactician suddenly stumbles upright, tripping over his own feet in a hasty attempt to reach him. He throws his arms around Chrom and clings to him desperately, his entire body shaking with emotion. Chrom reaches up to rest a hand on his back, but Robin suddenly pulls away, frowning slightly._

 _"Chrom?" he says. Then he shakes his head, dullness creeping over his pale eyes. "No. You are Chrom. But you are not the Chrom I know." he lets go of Chrom quickly, like he's been burned._

 _"I'm not," Chrom admits. Robin exhales with a long, mournful sigh, body folding up until he slumps to the ground again, kneeling with his head bowed. And even though Chrom has known him for all of a minute, it pains him to see Robin in such grief and he sits down beside the tactician, pulling him into an embrace. But Robin jerks and shudders, glancing at him with a strange expression on his face._

 _"I—I don't want to be touched now," Robin says slowly, cautiously._

 _"Oh," Chrom says, slightly confused. He moves away. "Uh. Alright. Sorry." He tries not to let his bewilderment and disappointment show, but he apparently doesn't do a very good job because Robin looks at him intently, with a piercing gaze._

 _"You are Chrom," he murmurs sadly. "But you really are not_ _him_ _."_

 _Chrom coughs awkwardly. "Er. Um." he looks around them for a hint of their surroundings, but the shadows stretch out endlessly around them. And yet he can see Robin perfectly clearly. "Where are we?" he asks._

 _Robin lifts his head and stares at a spot somewhere over Chrom's shoulder, into the void. "Where souls go after they die," he says with no trace of humor._

 _Chrom stares at him. "You mean I'm dead!?" he sputters._

 _"No!" Robin exclaims suddenly, his entire body stiffening. "Not you._ _Never_ _you. You must be alive. I can't—" his voice breaks off and he shakes his head in agitation. "It is extremely unlikely that you would die after the Fell Dragon was slain. Perhaps—" he laughs, a strained, bitter sound. "Perhaps this is some torment the Fell Dragon has devised for me in the last moments before his death—or perhaps I'm going insane. I have been here for a very long time." he buries his head in his hands._

 _"I'm not some phantom sent to haunt you," Chrom says placatingly, guessing at the true reason why Robin is trapped in this void. It seems, he thinks bitterly, that this Robin also shares the tendency for self-sacrifice. He reaches out a hand to rest it on Robin's shoulder, then remembers and pulls it away. "I—" he pauses. "I'm dreaming. Not dead."_

 _Robin sits up, staring at Chrom quizzically. "A dream?"_

 _Chrom sighs and rests his head on one hand. "I'm not your Chrom," he says slowly. "And you're not my Robin." he stares into the shadows, searching for a hint of light. But there is none. "He also sacrificed himself to kill Grima. I told him—I made him promise not to. But he lied. And he did."_

 _Robin is silent. Chrom takes that as a positive sign, or at least a willingness to listen, and continues. "I go out searching for him as often as I can. I'm sure the other me…Naga, that's a strange thought. But I haven't found him." Chrom closes his eyes. "And these dreams—these dreams keep on coming, and I've met so many versions of you by now, Robin—but it's never_ _him_ _, and it's not enough. I don't want this any more," he pleads, suddenly grief-stricken. "I want him back with me."_

 _Robin is staring at him in confusion. Chrom grins weakly. "Was that too weird?" he says, in a half-hearted attempt to lighten the mood._

 _"You are fading," Robin states._

 _Startled, Chrom looks down at his hands. They look vague and slightly blurry. He hadn't been able to notice before with the pitch-black surroundings, but he is disappearing, the dream is ending. He looks anxiously at Robin and is startled by the disappointed, terribly lonely look in his pale blue eyes._

 _"Robin!" he shouts urgently, a impulsive flash of inspiration hitting him. "If I had to search for you somewhere, where would it be?"_

 _Robin looks at him like he's being particularly stupid. "Where it began," he says, as if the answer was obvious._

 _Part of Chrom is inside the dream, and part of him is lying on his bed. He can feel the pillow under his head, even as he stares at Robin and the world around him begins to fade. Robin turns away rather than look at him disappear._

 _"Thank you," Chrom says. Robin bows his head again, waiting alone in the darkness, and Chrom's last thought before the dream fades entirely is that he really, really hopes that this version of Robin finds happiness. But the last thing he hears is something quite different, and the shock jolts him awake:_

* * *

 _I'll see you soon—_

* * *

Chrom awoke. He lay in bed for a while, almost afraid to move, listening to the sound of the birds singing outside. He clenched the blanket tightly in one fist. Something felt different today, and his heart beat quickly with anticipation, churning within him like the air before a storm.

"Frederick!" he shouted, bolting upwards and leaping out of bed. "Frederick!" he shouts, and the knight entered the room to see Chrom hastily stripping off his clothes and buckling the straps of his armor.

"Milord?" he said dubiously.

"I'm going out searching," Chrom panted, slipping on his cloak. "Right now."

"Now?" Frederick balked. "Milord—"

"Yes! Now, it has to be now!" Chrom said. He could feel himself smiling almost involuntarily; no wonder Frederick looked worried. "Bring Lissa! And yourself! And hurry!"

Frederick, bless his heart, decided not to question his lord any further. Less than half an hour later, Lissa had been dragged out of bed and three horses were saddled and waiting. And less than a minute after that, the three of them were riding urgently out of Ylisstol's gates.

Chrom didn't know how long they rode for, and steered his horse almost automatically. The sound of hoofbeats and his heartbeat pounded in his ears; his breath came in short bursts. There was something different about the air today. There was something that felt like a promise.

They arrived at a very familiar field, close to a small village named Southtown. At first the field looked empty, and Chrom faltered momentarily, until his eye caught sight of something out of place: a person, lying down on the grass, in a very familiar dark coat.

Frederick gasped. Lissa shrieked in shock. Chrom made no sound but hurled himself off his horse, racing toward the unconscious figure. His feet felt clumsy and he tripped several times in his eagerness, but he managed to stumble to a stop. He stood, breathless but not from exertion, staring down at a face he knew and had missed for so long. There was nothing strange or foreign about this face, nothing dream-like or unfamiliar.

Robin stirred. He opened his eyes blearily and stared vaguely up at Chrom, then awareness crept into his gaze and his eyes widened in shock.

"Chrom—" he said, his voice raspy from disuse.

Chrom had so many things he wanted to say. He wanted to say something fitting and appropriately meaningful, he wanted to shout and scream in joy, he wanted to cry and say how much he had missed him, he wanted to tell him about the multitude of Robins from his dreams that had led him to this moment.

But Chrom was a pretty terrible speechmaker, so instead he said: "There are better places to take a nap than on the ground, you know," with tears pricking at the corner of his eyes and a smile on his face. He extended his arm in welcome. "Give me your hand."

Shakily, as if he couldn't believe his luck, Robin reached out to join hands with him. There was nothing on the back of his right hand but a pure swath of pale skin. Chrom pulled him upright, allowing the silver-haired tactician to lean against his chest.

"How—" Robin gasped, a grin slowly spreading across his face. "I'm—I didn't—"

"Welcome back," Chrom said, pulling him into a fierce hug. And the many versions of Robin he had met had been amusing, comforting, helpful, and each wonderful in their own right, but nothing compared to this moment.

* * *

"It's over now."

* * *

A/N:...And the Academy Award for "Most Agonizing Chapter to Write" goes to the 100 review special. You have no idea how hard it was to work every single damn version of Robin into this behemoth. And this idea seemed a lot cooler and a lot less...self-indulgent when I first thought of it. If you got this far, please tell me what you think!

In order of their appearance in this chapter: Chapter 8's Robin, Chapter 5's Robin, Chapter 4's Robin, Chapter 1/11's Robin, Chapter 2/6's Robin, Chapter 9/11's Robin, Chapter 7's Robin and Chapter 10's Robin, Chapter 3's Robin.

Now if you'll excuse me, I need to bury myself twelve feet underground.


	14. Chapter 14

A/N: Sorry for the wait but here's a brand-new version of Robin! I'm not sure how well I characterized her, so I'd **love** feedback!

Thank you to everyone who reviewed! I love hearing from you guys, it really makes my day.

EDIT: Also I just realized it's been a year since I started this story! Whoo!

* * *

Chrom tapped, carefully and deliberately, on the wall of the tent. Robin was not someone who liked being surprised. Most of the Shepherds had discovered this the hard way, after a sudden intrusion into her personal space led to a panicked yell at best, or a Thunder to the face at worst. Eventually, after healing the third victim of Robin's knee-jerk reactions, Libra had carefully crafted a sign that said, in elegant lettering: "PLEASE KNOCK BEFORE ENTERING" and hung it on the entrance of Robin's tent without further comment. Robin had not mentioned the new addition to her abode, but she also had not taken it down, which likely meant that she approved.

There was no response from inside the tent. Chrom knocked again, more firmly this time.

"Ah! Yes!" Robin called from inside the tent. "Come in!"

Smiling faintly, Chrom pushed aside the tent flap and ducked inside. As usual, the inside of Robin's tent looked like a hurricane had hit it. Books and loose sheets of paper lay strewn over the desk, chairs, floor, and even the sleeping mat. Maps dangled haphazardly, strung from the poles that propped up the inside of the tent. The Levin's Sword had been propped up against a chair, its jagged tip digging into the ground. Chrom carefully picked it up and set it on the weapon rack where it belonged.

Robin was standing at her desk, staring down at a map. In the brief length of time it had taken Chrom to enter, she seemed to have already forgotten he was there. Her gaze bored into the map as she frowned in concentration, totally engrossed in her work.

Chrom walked over, stepping over the objects scattered on the floor. As he neared her desk, he coughed politely and she glanced up at him.

"It's time to eat," he said.

"Chrom! I wanted to see you!" she said excitedly, as if she hadn't heard him speak. A quick grin flitted across her face. "Here, look at this—" and she reached out an arm to drag him over to the table. He glanced down at the rumpled sheet of parchment. Robin had placed differently-colored clay figurines on various parts of terrain and scrawled notes in the margin with her scribbly handwriting.

"Look—" Robin jabbed an ink-stained finger down at the parchment. "The bandits are camped out on the edge of this forest, next to this mountain here. Their mistake! They're sandwiched between the trees and the cliffs; that makes it hard to maneuver. We smoke them out with fire and they'll be forced to retreat north—" and she pushed the group of tiny red figures across the map. "They'll flee into this valley—the locals call it Wyvern's Mouth—and we'll ambush them from the front and the back. Checkmate!" she knocked the clay soldiers over with an exuberant sweep of her hand.

Chrom hmm-ed, looking carefully at the map. "That does sound good," he said after a pause, "but it isn't guaranteed that they'll retreat toward Wyvern's Mouth. Look—" he tapped another section of the map. "They could also flee toward the west, into the plains. Surely they would realize that it'd be the better option?"

Robin frowned again, surprised frustration flashing across her face. "Ah—um, well—no, no they wouldn't. Their leader—we fought him before, remember? He thought we would—do you _see_?" she said, agitation leaking into her voice. She began to absently twist the fabric of her coat with one hand.

Chrom held up his hands. By now he was used to Robin's assumption that everyone possessed the ability to read the subtle tricks and details of warfare as well as she did. "Come on, Robin," he said placatingly, reaching out and prying her tense fingers loose from the folds of the fabric. "Slow down and explain."

She took a deep breath, exhaling with a sigh and impatiently brushing the wild strands of salmon-colored hair out of her eyes. "Right. The leader of the bandits," she said more slowly, pausing as she spoke to choose her words. "We fought him before and I—he's too cautious, paranoid. When he was about to rout us and we retreated, he hung back because he thought we would spring an ambush. He rarely advanced, even though his bandits outnumbered us, and attacked with projectiles instead. And when we were chasing him, he made them flee into the marsh instead of the hills, even though the hills would have been an easier retreat—he did that because he thought we were chasing him into the hills to set a trap. He chose the marsh even though it was a harder retreat, because he thought that I would think he would head for the hills. Does…that make sense?" she closed her eyes and sagged against the desk, as though the act of unraveling her thoughts was almost physically strenuous. "If he thinks we're chasing him toward the plains, he'll retreat into Wyvern's Mouth Valley. That's just how he thinks."

It took Chrom a second to process the stream of information. "You figured all of that out from one skirmish we had?" he said, impressed. "That's amazing. How did you know?"

Robin opened her eyes and reached for a quill, bending down to scrawl another note in the corner of the map. "I just do," she said heavily, in a voice without her usual energy. Now that Chrom was closer, he could see the dark shadows under her eyes and the paleness of her skin.

"When was the last time you ate something?" he said, reminded of why he'd come into the tent in the first place.

Robin vaguely and half-heartedly waved a hand. "Yesterday…evening?" she said. "I had…an apple. I think." she trailed off, staring vacantly at a spot somewhere over his shoulder.

Chrom sighed. "Robin," he said gently. "You need food and sleep like the rest of us. In that aspect, we're still similar." Although privately, he sometimes thought that needing food and sleep was one of the few things Robin had in common with the rest of the Shepherds. Even in an army that included the last taguel and an immortal dragon, at times Robin was still the strangest member of the Shepherds. The inside of her mind seemed to be a strange, cluttered place, filled with numbers, facts, and obscure strategies. When she was deep in thought her thoughts seemed to buzz around her like a swarm of flies, clouding her eyes and blocking her from the outside world.

"Robin," he said, tugging the quill out of her grasp. She blinked dumbly at her empty hand, as if she couldn't quite figure out where the quill had gone. "Food."

Robin glanced up at him, a flash of some undecipherable emotion in her eyes. It looked like she was looking through him instead of at him. Chrom, for a brief moment, entertained the idea that there were two different sides to Robin: the somewhat spontaneous but friendly Robin who liked to laugh at Virion's sly jokes, and the Robin who lived in a distant world of tactics and calculations and forgot to do things like sleep.

Thankfully, this seemed to be one of Robin's better days, because his words reached her and she stepped around the desk to join him. "Is it lunch?" she said, in a more normal-sounding voice.

"Dinner," Chrom said, steering her away from the table.

"Ah." she leaned against him.

* * *

At first, Robin had not been the most popular new recruit that Chrom had introduced.

"She is…unorthodox in her behavior," Maribelle said delicately, when he'd dropped by to ask her what she thought of their new tactician, a few weeks after Robin had became a Shepherd. When he'd pressed her further, she'd delicately raised a porcelain teacup to her mouth and changed the subject.

Sully had been more straightforward in her analysis. "She's weird as hell," she said bluntly. "I dunno what's running through her head half the time. It's a bit creepy."

But creepy or not, Robin was undoubtedly the finest tactician Chrom—or even Ylisse—had ever seen, and the rest of the Shepherds had to agree after she saved them from several close calls. Most of this was thanks to her nearly uncanny ability to tell what her opponent was thinking, whether it was during large-scale war campaigns or something as small as a sparring match.

"Oof!" Chrom grunted as Robin ducked beneath his slash and drove the hilt of her sword into his stomach. He backed up and angled his sword upwards, aiming to stab her in the back, but Robin danced away just before the blunt tip of the wooden practice sword hit her. Although she wasn't nearly as good a sword-fighter as he was, she always seemed to know exactly where he was going to strike next. He retreated slightly, eyeing her warily. For a moment he was struck by the burning intensity of her gaze and his breath caught in his throat.

Robin attacked first. She lunged forward with surprising speed, angling her blow to stab him in the side. Chrom managed to block the hit, noting that her movements were slightly slower than before. Despite her quick thinking, she just didn't have the stamina that he did. He aimed a blow at the hilt of her sword to try and disarm her, and felt encouraged when she veered aside clumsily instead of blocking the hit. He began a series of quick slashes, forcing her backwards. She had to be getting tired by now, it was just a matter of time—

But Robin was no longer there. With a sudden burst of energy, she ducked under his arm when he overreached one of his strikes. And then she was pressed up against him, the blade of her wooden sword tucked against the curve of his throat, digging meaningfully into his skin. Chrom's breath hitched in surprise and he stumbled, cursing inwardly. She'd known he would get reckless—Naga, but she was good at her job!

"Yield," Robin said. Her face was very close to his; he could feel her breath puffing against his cheek. He swallowed a groan and leaned his head back to avoid the edge of the sword.

"I yield," he said, his voice rough. Robin released him and backed away, panting slightly. "Well fought," he said, planting his sword in the dirt and leaning on it for support.

Robin smiled at him, an intense, wide grin that disappeared quickly. Sparring always seemed to clear the thoughts from her head, and she looked more relaxed than he had ever seen her.

"It's not fair. You know me too well," he joked. She brushed the flyaway strands of hair out of her eyes, uncharacteristically too tired for words, and made a face at him. He laughed in response.

* * *

"Maybe whatever took away her memory also scrambled her brains a bit."

"Don't be rude!"

"What? I'm just telling the truth."

"All right, that's enough," Chrom said warningly, half-rising from his seat. Sully, Vaike, and Stahl saw him staring reprimandingly at them and cringed, their expressions ranging from embarrassed to repentant.

"Robin is a valuable member of the Shepherds and a strategic genius," said Chrom authoritatively. "I understand that some of her tendencies may seem—" he paused, remembering when Robin had walked straight into a tree in the midst of planning a battlefield maneuver. Then he hastily continued: "—strange. But I won't allow anyone to make her feel unwelcome," he said pointedly.

Vaike scoffed and rubbed at his forehead. "Look, the Teach is just calling it like he sees it. She ain't all here." he was about to continue, but caught sight of Chrom's expression and shut his mouth quickly. He looked unapologetic.

Chrom was now in the uncomfortable position of defending his new recruit against one of his strongest soldiers and his oldest friend. He sighed, rubbing his forehead tiredly. "Vaike," he said. "I trust Robin. You're going to have to trust me on this."

Vaike stared at him, his fingers curling briefly around the hilt of his axe. "Fine," he conceded. "But the Teach still isn't convinced," he added hastily, determined to have the last word.

Three weeks later, Robin stopped Vaike from charging straight into an ambush that almost certainly would have killed him. "Alright," he said to Chrom later, "she's smart. But still a little bonkers."

* * *

When Chrom had extended his hand to Robin after he had found her lying unconscious in the grass, his first thought (after he saw her open her eyes) was how stormy her gaze was, like there was a hurricane of thoughts tussling about behind her eyes.

Then Robin had taken his hand with a firm grip and said casually, like nothing was wrong: "Oh, Chrom. I'm glad to see you again," and he'd dropped her hand in shock because he was pretty sure that he wasn't supposed to recognize a complete stranger he'd found in a random field.

It didn't help that Robin had continued to nonchalantly and stubbornly insist that she knew him, she was _certain_ she knew him ("Is this a joke, Chrom? I don't get it, if it is"), even if she apparently remembered absolutely anything else. If Southtown hadn't exploded a few minutes later, it would have probably taken an act of Naga to stop the highly suspicious Frederick from skewering her right then and there.

* * *

Even after he'd grudgingly accepted her as a member of the Shepherds, what seemed to really drive Frederick (and a few others, truth be told) up the wall was Robin's status as a walking bundle of paradoxes.

"Robin," said Miriel one day when the Shepherds were all eating breakfast together, "I remain interested in the book you described yesterday detailing the connection between a unified theory of falling and wind magic. Could you inform me of its whereabouts?"

Robin, who had been devouring a plateful of eggs with great gusto (she tended to eat a lot, once she actually remembered to eat) looked up and swallowed. "It's in the library," she said.

Chrom coughed. The royal library was very large and it was incredibly easy to get lost amidst the near-identical shelves; he knew this from his many childhood attempts to hide from Frederick. Thankfully, most of the Shepherds were well acquainted with Robin's occasionally vague or nonsensical attempts at explanations. Miriel raised an eyebrow but said, "I would like a more detailed description of its location, please."

"Okay," said Robin. "Enter the library, take a left, walk past two bookshelves, then a left, then a right again, past one bookshelf, left, into the side room, right past two bookshelves and the window, then another right, past one bookshelf. It's in the second shelf on the right, on the end of the third row. It has a green cover and yellow lettering. The passage you're looking for is in chapter twelve, around page two-hundred-and-two."

There was a pause as the nearby Shepherds digested this. Robin reached over and stole Chrom's apple.

"Um," Sumia, another frequent visitor of the royal library, said slowly. "How did you remember all that, Robin?"

"I saw it in the library," said Robin. She picked up a knife and began to peel the apple meticulously.

"Oh," Lissa said. "Like, yesterday, you mean?"

"No, three and a half weeks ago," said Robin. She bit into the apple with a crunch.

Later in the day, Chrom happened to overhear Frederick corner Robin in a corridor. "Robin," he said calmly, "I seem to recall that this morning I was supposed to instruct you on how to best use a javelin."

Robin frowned, a distant expression flashing across her face. "Oh. Um. Yes. We were."

"I waited for you near the training grounds. You didn't come."

"I forgot," Robin said.

"I reminded you at breakfast," Frederick said shortly.

Robin looked embarrassed. "I forgot," she said again, more defensively.

Frederick sighed, and Chrom tensed, digging his fingers into the wall and wondering if he should intervene. But instead all the knight said was: "Is there a way I can help you remember?"

Surprised, Robin blinked and relaxed. The two of them began to talk about schedules and lists (if anyone was good at organizing, it was Frederick), and Chrom slipped away, exhaling in relief. All in all, it was a pretty good day.

* * *

Today wasn't one of Robin's good days. In fact, it wasn't really a good day for anyone.

"Open the door," Chrom said, pounding frustratedly on the sturdy oak door. It refused to budge. Robin refused to respond. "Robin. I need to know you're all right in there."

Still no response. He let his hand fall to his side with a sigh. The Shepherd's last excursion hadn't been nearly as successful as they'd hoped. A sudden rainstorm had devastated the fire trap that Robin had set, forcing her to revise her plans on the spot. The result had been a prolonged battle through terrain that became increasingly muddy and hard to navigate. A good chunk of the Risen horde they were fighting managed to escape, and to make matters worse, the Shepherds had suffered serious damage: Virion had been surrounded and nearly killed, Panne's leg was wounded so badly that the healers were uncertain if she would ever walk normally again, and after their hasty retreat to Ylisstol, Robin had refused all medical attention and locked herself in her room.

A frustrated groan worked its way up Chrom's throat. He hoped that Robin was just being unresponsive and that she hadn't passed out on the floor. How much of the blood that soaked her coat had been from her enemies, and how much had been from her? Suddenly seized by fear, he pounded on the door again. "Robin! Robin, answer me! Please, Robin!"

There was a long pause, then he heard her, from inside the room, reply "here," in such a defeated, tired voice that he felt his chest clench in sympathy.

"Robin," he said again, exhaling in relief. "Come on. Let me in."

Silence again. Clearly, Robin was not in the mood to see anyone. Chrom turned around, leaning his head against the door and sliding downwards until he was sitting with his back against the door.

"I just want to help," he said to the empty hallway. Robin did not respond. He sighed, leaning into the wood, wondering what to say. After a long, thoughtful pause, he spoke.

"There were other Shepherds," he said, "before you came. You never met them."

More silence in response.

"They died," Chrom continued, closing his eyes and feeling the old ache of grief return. "Cut down on the battlefield, or succumbed to wounds days later in the infirmaries. I was less experienced, and I made mistakes." he shrugged helplessly. "It wasn't always completely my fault, but…" he broke off, clutching the hem of his tunic tightly in one fist. "I still wondered. If I'd thought of a different strategy, or been more careful, then maybe they would have..." he opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling. "Emmeryn helped me through it. She talked me down when I was frightened and angry. I'd like to help you, too, if you'll let me."

He heard the faint sounds of movement behind the door, and decided to try one more time.

"Robin," he said. "It wasn't your fault."

More shuffling from inside the room, and then the sound of the door unlocking. Chrom stood up hastily and opened the door before Robin could change her mind. He pushed it open and stepped in.

As messy as all of Robin's living spaces normally were, this time even Chrom was taken aback by the state of her room. The room was dim, but he could see that maps and sheets of paper had been shredded, the scraps lying all over the floor. Chairs had been overturned, the Levin's Sword was embedded in the remnants of a desk, and Robin was standing in the middle of the mess, staring at him. The blankness he saw in her eyes terrified him and he closed the distance between them in a few quick steps to grasp her shoulders with both hands.

"Everything's going to be all right," he said gently. She was shaking slightly, shuddering as he brought one hand up to stroke her hair, and suddenly she was bursting into a stream of words.

"I can't help it—I didn't—I couldn't—I need to, Chrom—I'm the tactician, I have to—"

"No," Chrom said firmly. "You can't predict everything, and it's unrealistic to think that you'd be able to. You're not a god, Robin. It's fine that you can't do everything at once."

She let out a shaky, humorless laugh, and suddenly Chrom could see a strange light in her eyes. "Oh, but I can! I can see everything, Chrom, I can see the strengths and weaknesses of every soldier in every battle, I can see how long it would take to kill each of them, I can track their plans—their movements—all of it's laid out before me like a grid on a table, and I don't know how but if I can see so much and still lose a battle because of a _raincloud—"_ she spat the word out angrily. "—then why am I—why didn't— _what use am I?"_

"Robin," Chrom said in a desperate attempt to calm her down. "Robin, what are you talking about?"

She lifted her head to stare into his eyes, with a gaze that seems to look right through him. "Chrom," she said in a flat tone, "If one of those Risen with an iron sword had hit you three times, you would have died."

A chill crept up his spine. He tried to say something, but was at a loss for words. What could he possibly say, anyways?

Robin lowered her head again, resting it against his chest. "Sully called me crazy once," she said, exhausted from her sudden burst of intensity. "I know she wouldn't now, but—" her voice broke. "I don't want to be crazy. I don't want to be different."

Chrom rested his chin on her head. He could feel her trembling slightly as he thought about what he could possibly say to save her from whatever she was going through. But there wasn't anything he could do alone, was there? He could help her, but ultimately this was something Robin had to work out for herself.

"I don't think," he said eventually, "that just because you think a bit differently from the rest of us, that it's a bad thing." Her shoulders tensed and her fingers curled into a fist around the hem of his tunic, and he continued: "And besides, it'd be uninteresting if we were all exactly the same." Chrom faltered at that. He'd never been one for eloquent speeches.

Robin tilted her head to look up at him, her hair falling into her eyes. She opened her mouth, closed it, then shook her head and laughed at something only she could hear. "Thank you," she said quietly, the words escaping her mouth with a wistful sigh.

"Any time. But we should get to the infirmary," Chrom said, breaking the silence and attempting to pry himself out of Robin's grasp. It didn't really work and she clung onto him stubbornly.

"Don't wanna," Robin muttered.

"Come on."

"Nuh."

In the end, Chrom picked Robin up, mud-covered longcoat and all, and forcibly carried her to the infirmary. She made half-complaining noises all the way there and smeared dirt all over his hair in retaliation.

* * *

Slow days were rare for the Shepherds, but it so happened that on a warm sunny afternoon in Ylisstol, all of them found themselves lounging about the training fields with very little to do. Most of them were simply sitting or even lying in the grass, but a few of them were busy; Libra was patiently watching over Panne as she struggled to walk with her newly healed leg, Nowi had devised a impromptu game of keep-away with Donnel, and Chrom was dragging Robin outside.

"Don't be so stubborn," Chrom said, half-tempted to pick her up again as she dug her heels into the ground. "Sunlight will do you some good."

"I don't like sun," Robin insisted, attempting to twist out of his grasp. He was physically strong than her, but she was pretty good at wriggling away. "I want to read," she said.

"You can do that outside, with the rest of us," said Chrom. Robin paused, briefly defeated in the face of such dexterous logic. "And anyway," he continued incredulously, "who doesn't like the sunshine?"

She made a face at him. "Fine," she said, ceasing her attempts to dart back indoors. Chrom grinned and let go of her, reasonably certain that she wouldn't try to run while he was distracted. He herded her into an especially sunny patch of grass and plopped down with a satisfied sigh. Robin sat down next to him and opened her book, frowning in the bright sunlight.

"What are you reading?" Chrom asked.

"Hm?" said Robin distractedly. "Oh. A historical record about the Hero-King Marth. This passage—" she tapped the page with an ink-stained finger. "—is about his personal guard, Kris." she looked up at him briefly. "It's fascinating. There's not much surviving record of Kris, even though she seems to have been an important person."

Chrom hmmed in acknowledgement and leaned back, basking in the warm light. "I read something once—" he began.

"I am surprised," said Robin.

"Hey! I don't spend all my time swinging swords," Chrom protested.

"That's true, you also nap."

Chrom pulled up a fistful of grass and threw it at Robin. The shreds of grass landed in her hair and she glared at him. "Anyway," he said, "When my father was the Exalt he once brought back a dusty scroll that he said was from a faraway land. The scroll was written by a woman who was a famous warrior."

"Right," said Robin, who looked like she wanted to get back to her own book.

"In the scroll, she talked about one of her closest friends, a man named Mark," said Chrom. "She said—" he paused. "She said that he was a well-loved soldier and a brilliant tactician, and that the two of them had met when she found him unconscious in a field."

Now Robin sat up, suddenly paying the utmost attention. Chrom shifted under her intense gaze and turned to stare into the distance.

"Gods, this is going to sound embarrassing, but sometimes…" he laughed quietly. "Sometimes, I feel like we're being guided along our paths by some invisible hand. Some unknown fate." he turned to look at her. Robin was staring at him with an incredulous expression. "Am I being too weird?" he asked.

There was a brief silence. Then Robin tilted her head back and burst into laughter, so suddenly and loudly that the rest of the Shepherds stopped and glanced their way. Robin kept laughing. So hard she doubled over, wheezing slightly. Chrom watched her bemusedly. Eventually she recovered enough to glance up at him, her eyes bright.

"No," she said, with a grin that was sharp-edged and brilliant. "Not at all."

* * *

A/N: I'll take "authors who impose their own issues on fictional characters" for 500 dollars please

I also missed Chrom's birthday…I'm sorry Chrom…happy birthday you stupid dork

Coming up: more Chapter 3!Robin, maybe a Harry Potter AU, and the reincarnated versions of Robin and Chrom go on a road trip.


	15. Chapter 15

A/N: I'm back. I didn't actually plan on writing this chapter but it kind of latched onto me and refused to let go.

 **As a reminder,** these versions of Chrom and Robin first appeared in Chapter 9 and again in Chapter 12. I **strongly** recommend reading those chapters before this one.

 **Basic premise for those too lazy** : Chrom and Robin are the modern-day reincarnations of Exalt Chrom and Tactician Robin, although in this timeline the ancient Robin's name, gender and identity were ultimately lost to time, and is only remembered as the High Deliverer. Both of them have little moments of déjà vu sometimes related to this.

Liz and Emily are the reincarnated versions of Lissa and Emmeryn.

And before I forget, THANK YOU TO ALL YOU LOVELY READERS! You make my day!

* * *

"Hey, Chrom," Robin said, throwing her backpack onto the ground and collapsing onto the couch. Next to her, Chrom, who was occupied with with mashing the buttons on his controller, stared at the television screen and hmmed absently in response. He frowned at the screen.

"I hate this game," he said under his breath. "Oh, and hello."

Robin leaned back into the couch, letting out a sigh and relaxing slightly. "Look out for those boulders. Hey. Listen. I think we're pretty good friends at this point, right?" she continued.

"Seeing as you just let yourself into my house…" Chrom replied dryly, glancing at her. On the screen, the pixellated swordsman he was controlling narrowly avoided being crushed by a falling rock. He scowled.

Robin huffed. "Your family needs to start changing up where you hide the keys. They've been in that potted plant next to the back door for two weeks now. But back to what I was saying. You know what our friendship needs to seal the deal?" she said. and waited for a response.

"What?" Chrom said eventually, still staring at the television screen.

"A road trip?"

" _Yes_ ," Chrom yelled, dropping the controller in his excitement. On the screen, his character was killed by a lightning trap.

* * *

"It's the middle of summer," Liz howled. "It's the middle of summer—why are you going to Plegia? You hate the heat!"

"Robin and I are going on a road trip," said Chrom. He was rifling through his closet and throwing every single t-shirt he could find onto his bed. He flung one too far and it hit Liz in the face. She scowled and peeled it off.

"You'll get baked alive," she said. "It's in the middle of a desert."

"…I'm bringing sunscreen," Chrom said. "Look, Robin really wants to go on this trip and she asked me to come, and I just think it'll be fun for us to hang out on the road." he picked up a shockingly bright yellow shirt, made a face, and threw it back into the closet.

"You're awfully close, you know," Liz said. She was sitting in a comfy swivel chair and she began to spin herself around slowly. "You talk to her way more than you talk to Vaike or Sully, and you've known them since you were five."

"Liz, I told you," Chrom began, annoyed. "We're friends—"

"I know! I know! I think it's just…kinda weird." Liz spun around and stared at him. "Just a few months ago you came back from the museum all worked up about finding 'your best friend'—and yeah, you actually used those exact words because you were so _excited,_ " she said, and Chrom turned back to his suitcase to hide the growing flush of embarrassment. "And I thought it was just you being, uh, _you_ but then you two actually went and became best friends. Like, _real_ best friends!" she threw her arms in the air, nearly falling off the chair. "You even do that dumb thing where you know what each other are thinking. It's like you've known each other for years! Was she like, your secret childhood pen pal or something?"

"Maybe I'm just good at making friends," Chrom said defensively.

Liz burst into laughter.

"Hey!" Chrom threw a pair of his socks at her. They hit her in the face, muffling her laughs. She threw them back at him.

"Those better have been clean," said Liz, still giggling. "Hey, why did Robin even bring this up? It seems a bit…sudden. Maybe she's actually a serial killer and she's finalized her plans to sell your organs on the black market."

"Shut up, she probably just thought it'd be fun." Robin had left shortly after informing him of the trip. She'd seemed somewhat distracted—it was unlike her—but Chrom had been too busy with his game to really think about it.

"You should ask her what she's got planned," Liz said. "Unless you can do your best-friend-telepathy thing."

Chrom closed his eyes and pretended to concentrate. "Mmm-hmmm…Robin says the buttons in your hair look dumb."

"I like them!" Liz picked up a cushion and threw it at him. He dodged, laughing.

* * *

Chrom had Robin on speed-dial. He was not even remotely ashamed about this.

"Hello?" said Robin. She'd picked up after the second ring. She hated letting her phone ring without answering. Chrom had once hidden her phone under a couch cushion and called it, and spent the next few minutes trying not to laugh as she all but turned the living room upside down trying to find it. In retaliation, she'd hidden an alarm clock under his bed and set it to go off at 6 AM.

"Robin," Chrom said, tucking the cell phone between his ear and shoulder. He was trying to do the dishes and talk to her at the same time. He was pleased with his level of success. "I was just wondering—you know our road trip?"

"Er, yeah," said Robin. "What about it?"

"What are we going to do in Plegia? I mean—why'd you bring it up? Just curious." Chrom carefully set down a glass and picked up a plate, frowning at the grease stains. Maybe he shouldn't have tried to help with the cooking.

"Oh, my dad died. I'm going to go pick up—"

"What!?" Chrom screeched. The phone slipped from his shoulder and fell into the sink with a small splash. Swearing, he shoved the plate onto the counter and scooped up his phone. He pressed a button. It was unresponsive.

"Hello?" Robin said, five minutes later, after Chrom had finished panicking and remembered that that he had a home phone.

"Sorry, did you say your dad _died!?_ " Chrom said, one still-soapy hand clutching the receiver, one hand clumsily attempting to shake the water out the cracks of his waterlogged cell phone.

"Yes, I did. Where'd you go? The line went dead," said Robin.

"I dropped my phone in the sink."

"Tell me, did your high school class vote you 'Most Likely to Break Things' in your yearbook?"

"This isn't funny!" Chrom nearly screeched, feeling slightly hysterical. "Your dad—oh my god, are you _okay?_ Do you—do you need someone to talk to, or—is the rest of your family—"

"Calm down, I'm fine." said Robin. She sounded irritated, and a little tired. "Look, my dad and I don't...didn't really get along. I haven't seen him for a while. I'm not really all that upset."

"Oh." Chrom stood in his living room, soapy water dripping from his hands and running down his arms, clutching the phone to his ear and feeling incredibly out of his depth. "So—when you said road trip—"

"The rest of my family went ahead and had the funeral without me," Robin said. Although she would have sounded normal to almost anyone, Chrom caught a faint bite to her tone. "There's some stuff that I've got to go pick up, that's all. Probably not a lot. I didn't even know he'd left me anything."

"Oh." he repeated. What was he supposed to say to that? "I'm sorry," he said eventually, leaning against the wall and closing his eyes.

"Thanks," she said, her voice slightly tinny through the phone. "As for the rest of the trip, I dunno, I thought we could do some sightseeing on the way. I had a couple old friends whose houses I thought we'd stop by—if that's okay with you. I know there's some historic sites from the times of the Shepherds on the route. And there's always the Dragon's Table." she trailed off. "I haven't really had time to think about it all that much. I thought we'd make it up as we go along."

"That sounds good," Chrom agreed hesitantly. "…Robin. Are you really okay?

"I'm alright." Robin sighed. "It's not a big deal. Really."

"Okay."

"I have to go."

"Okay. I'll text you later."

"Of course. Bye."

"Bye," Chrom said, but Robin had already hung up. He set down the phone, dried his hands on the fabric of his pants, and groaned.

"Liz!" he called. "You're not gonna believe this."

* * *

Despite the seemingly tragic nature of their trip, Robin didn't seem very fazed at all. In fact, Chrom thought he was more affected by her father's death than she was. He tiptoed around her for a while before she got fed up and told him that his attempts were 'completely transparent' and she'd like things to go back to normal, thank you very much. Chrom obeyed, but kept thinking about it in the back of his head.

Robin was by far the better driver, but Chrom, whose family was very close to being Rich with a capital R, had a better vehicle. So the two of them compromised, and on a warm sunny morning the two of them set out on the highway in Chrom's shiny blue car with Robin at the wheel. Chrom contented himself with the driver's seat and radio duty.

They drove. Robin ranted about some political scandal in the news. Chrom ranted about the new television series he was watching, a historical drama about the Hero-King Marth. The two of them argued about a video game both were playing, briefly refused to talk to each other, then called a truce after fifteen minutes.

"What are you _doing_?" Robin groaned, and Chrom glanced out the window to see a small, bright green car weave in and out of the lanes, cutting between the other cars at an alarming speed. The driver, a tiny woman with bright green hair, blew a raspberry at him as she passed them.

"That was rude," he remarked, rolling down the window and leaning his head out. "This isn't Mario Kart!" he shouted. Robin laughed.

The next hour or so passed without much incident. The two of them settled into a comfortable silence. Robin drove, humming along to the radio when a song she liked came on and grimacing when a song she hated started. Eventually the commercials grew too annoying for her liking and she plugged in her phone to play music from her playlist. Chrom was fine with this; they spent so much time together that they'd ended up adding a lot of their music onto each other's phones for pure convenience. He slouched in his seat and stared out the window, watching fields of bright green grass flash by. Suddenly he bolted up.

"Robin! Robin, look!" he shouted.

After the long period of quiet, his outburst was so sudden that Robin was startled and jumped in her seat. The car swerved alarmingly and Chrom yelped, reaching out to steady her arm. As the steering wheel righted itself, Robin exhaled to calm her pounding nerves and stared at the road. "This better be really important," she growled, heart beating furiously in her ears.

"Uh," said Chrom weakly, gesturing vaguely out the window. "Sheep."

Robin glanced out the window. She could see a herd of bored-looking sheep grazing in the field to her right. She shot a quick glare at him before turning her attention back to the road and stifling a sigh. "Sorry," he mumbled, feeling his face warm.

They pulled off the highway after a few more hours to grab lunch. While she wasn't paying attention, Chrom stole and ate almost all of Robin's onion rings. Robin refused to budge until they drove back to buy her some more. They had another brief argument and a grumpy short drive back to the fast food restaurant, where Chrom tried very hard to convince the cheery cashier that he and Robin were not dating.

"Smooth," said Robin as Chrom nearly sprinted back towards her. He'd all but thrown his money at the cashier after the people in line behind him had shown signs of interest in their conversation.

"Take your rings," said Chrom, shoving the grease-stained bag at her. She grinned at him. Seeing him flounder about in public had clearly improved her mood and she patted him on the shoulder consolingly. He scowled and she laughed, handing him an onion ring.

* * *

Chrom insisted on driving for a while, worried that more hours at the wheel would wear Robin out. Robin protested but gave in after a few minutes of coaxing, although she watched him like a hawk for the first half an hour or so. Eventually she must have decided that his driving skills were passable and fell asleep, slouched against the window. Chrom turned down the music when it got too loud and tried not to think about why they were driving to Plegia.

Robin awoke long after the hot afternoon had turned into a warm night. She rubbed at her eyes blearily and looked out the window. The car was stationary, stopped in a parking lot near a convenience store. She glanced to her side. Chrom was not there. There was a rustling sound as she sat up and she found a scrap of paper on her lap. _Buying stuff,_ it said in Chrom's large handwriting.

Sure enough, a few minutes later Chrom returned with a full shopping bag. He smiled sheepishly at her as he handed her the bag. "Snacks," he explained, looking immensely pleased with himself. Robin took the bag and looked inside it. There was enough food to feed a small army.

"I can split the cost," she said. Chrom shook his head, ripping open a bar of chocolate gleefully.

"It's like you said," he said. "I'm Rich with a capital R." he pressed a pack of crackers into her hand. As she opened her mouth to protest, he crammed the chocolate bar into her mouth. She made a sputtering noise and mock glared at him. They sat like that for a while in the parking lot, eating and watching a cartoon on Robin's phone.

"I'm getting tired; you wanna drive?" Chrom said. She nodded and happily switched seats with him, digging out a can of coffee that he'd bought and chugging it down in a few gulps. And they were back on the highway, the sky lit by the dim glow of stars, the road lit by the glare of headlights. Robin turned on the music and Chrom leaned back in his seat, wondering why being on the road with her felt so familiar, so _right._ He sang quietly along to the song under his breath.

 _'All at once, there was no place where I would rather be…'_

* * *

The two friends traveled like that for a long while, one of them driving, the other sleeping, then trading off. Eventually both of them were too tired to go on.

"That's convenient," said Robin. "We're getting near my friend's house. He promised to let us crash there for a night."

"Brilliant," said Chrom vehemently. Sleeping leaned against the window had given him a cramp in his shoulder and he was too tall to lie down in the back seat. He stared out the window. The lush, endless fields of Ylisse had begun to turn into the dry, dusty flatlands that were ubiquitous in Plegia.

Robin hummed along to the music as they exited the highway and entered the city. The sun was just beginning to set, painting the sky in streaks of red and purple. A short while later they were standing in front of a tall apartment building. After a climb up three flights of stairs (the elevator was out of order) they reached a series of battered-looking wooden doors. Robin went over to one and raised her hand. But before she could ring the doorbell, the door swung open.

"About time! I thought you two had gotten in an accident!" said the boy standing in the doorway. Chrom glanced at him, trying not to stare too obviously. He had pale silver hair and pale skin, and he grinned at Robin cheerfully as he opened the door wider. "Come in! You look like you're about to keel over."

"Thanks, Henry," said Robin gratefully. She waved a hand at Chrom. "Henry, meet Chrom. Chrom, I met Henry in elementary school. Henry, I met Chrom at a museum and he decided he was going to be my friend."

"H-hey! You're the one who gave me your phone number," Chrom protested, hoping it was too dark for the other two to see his blush.

Henry laughed. "Nya ha ha! You're kinda funny," he said. "Come on in already!" he tugged on Robin's sleeve and the two of them stepped indoors.

The inside of Henry's apartment was like a zoo. A tankful of colorful fish was perched on a shelf next to a glass cage, where three spotted lizards basked under the orange glow of a sun lamp. A mangy orange cat that looked like it'd been through too many fights glared at Chrom as he stepped into the room, then seemed to decide he wasn't worth the effort and went back to sleep. Chrom glanced to his left to see a raccoon peering at him cautiously from a repurposed cat condo, then glanced to his right to see a wire cage containing three playful gray-and-white rats. But strangest of all, a large, wolf-like dog was curled up quietly on the rug next to a small television, and perched on the television was a sleek black crow. It cawed at Chrom morosely as he stared at it.

"You have a lot of animals," said Chrom before he could stop himself.

Henry beamed. "Not all of them are mine!" he said. "Well, some of them are. The rest I'm just taking care of! I found them injured or sick, and I'm feeding them and treating them until they can get better."

"Like the raccoon?" said Robin, bending over to cautiously examine the raccoon. It stared at her with big black eyes and rubbed its small paws together. "It wasn't here last time."

"Nope! I found her hiding under a dumpster. She'd been attacked by a big dog! I talked to her until she came out and took her home."

"Hang on," said Chrom, "you just talk to animals and they come home with you?"

Henry nodded and laughed suddenly. "Yep! I make four-legged friends wherever I go!"

The crow cawed.

"Or two-legged. I wasn't excluding anybody." Henry walked over to the crow and stroked its glossy feathers gently. "I even made friends with a three-legged bear once. But hey, that's a story for another day."

"That's amazing," said Chrom, and he meant it. Henry glanced up at him, looking appreciative.

Robin nudged him. "Hey, nerd," she said. "There's a spare room but it's only got one bed. You want to rock-paper-scissors for the couch? Two out of three."

"I'll take the couch," said Henry before Chrom could reply. "I sleep in my bed all the time, and you two look tired. Really! I thought you were going to pass out when you came in."

"Oh no, you don't have to—"

"I already washed the bedsheets, so you might as well," said Henry cheerily. "Besides, this way I can sleep next to these guys for once. He patted the wolf-dog on the head. "It's no big deal."

"Th-thanks," said Chrom, feeling slightly guilty about kicking Henry out of his bedroom, but also secretly glad he didn't have to sleep on the couch. Robin always won at rock-paper-scissors.

Later, Robin came into the guest room when Chrom had settled in and sat down on the bed. "Henry says that he likes you well enough, but if you turn out to be a serial killer he's going to murder you and sell your organs on the black market." she began to pick at a stray piece of lint on the bedding.

"Really," said Chrom. "He should talk to Liz."

"Seriously though, I'm glad you two get along." Robin stopped picking at the sheets and stared at him.

"Why?"

"A lot of people don't like Henry. They think he's weird because he likes animals better than people and he has a strange sense of humor." she shrugged.

"I don't care about that."

"Of course you wouldn't. You're too nice for your own good. Remember the mugger?"

"Shut up." Chrom threw a pillow at her. She ducked a second too late and it hit her on the head.

* * *

Well before 6 AM, every animal in Henry's house woke up and simultaneously demanded breakfast. Chrom lay wake in bed for a while listening to him rummage around the kitchen, feeding his miniature menagerie. After half an hour he decided to get up.

"Good morning!" said Henry loudly, as Chrom entered the living room. The silver-haired boy was cutting pieces of raw meat at the kitchen counter; the crow was perched on the refrigerator, watching him impatiently.

"Where's Robin?" Chrom asked.

"She's gone for a bit to see our friend Tharja. She said to let you sleep." Henry put down the knife and shoved the platter of meat chunks towards his crow, which descended greedily and began to eat with loud clacks of its beak. Under the table, the large wolf-dog was quietly eating a heaping bowlful of kibble.

Henry set the knife in the sink and turned to Chrom suddenly. _"_ Hey, this is kinda weird," he said. "But, uh, have we met before?"

"No," said Chrom.

"That's really weird. 'Cause, see," said Henry, tapping his fingers on the countertop, "I'm pretty sure I've heard your name before. It's like I know it from somewhere. It's familiar, like déjà vu almost."

"Déjà vu?" said Chrom quickly.

"Uh-huh, it means feeling like you've already experienced something in the past."

"I know what it means," Chrom said a little too loudly, almost rising out of his chair. "I feel like that _all the time_ —"

"No, wait! No!" Henry snapped his fingers. "I remember! Gosh, where you named after Chrom the _Exalt?"_

 _"_ Uh." Chrom froze. While Plegia and Ylisse got along well enough now, he was also too aware of the famous series of wars between the two countries in ancient times. The very wars that had produced famous heroes of history like the masked swordsman Marth and the hooded tactician whose name had been lost and was only known as the High Deliverer. And, of course, the Exalt Chrom. In any case, he sincerely hoped that Henry wouldn't have reason to be upset about it _now._

"Yeah, I was."

"Wow." Henry tilted his head and observed him carefully for a few moments. "Your parents must have been _huge_ _nerds."_ he concluded, grinning.

" _Why does everyone say that!?"_

Henry laughed. "I'm joking! I'm joking! Don't get mad or anything. Hey, what did you mean earlier?"

"Hmm?"

"When you said, _'I feel like that all the time'."_

Chrom paused, suddenly feeling very uncomfortable. _Well,_ he wanted to say, _sometimes when I talk to Robin I get the feeling like we've had the same conversation before, except I know we haven't. Sometimes when we're on the road looking for history stuff, I know what the landmarks look like before we reach them. Also last night I had a dream where you were surrounded by zombies but you still had that huge grin on your face, like it was your freaking birthday party—but I can't say that because you'll think I'm crazy, and you'll kill me and sell my organs on the black market, and maybe I'm thinking about that dream too much but for some reason I'm sure you'd be good at it._

 _"_ It's nothing," he said. "Forget it."

Henry stared at him for a second, his smile dropping from his face. Then he grinned again, impossibly widely. "Hey, you wanna help feed my lizards?"

Robin came back a few hours later to find Chrom and Henry dangling a bundle of grapes in front of the three rats, which squeaked and jumped up in excitement. "I hate to cut this short," she said bemusedly as Chrom scrambled up hurriedly. "It's time to hit the road."

Henry hugged Robin tightly as they left the apartment. "Come by again!" he said, releasing her and waving at Chrom.

"Or you can come to Ylisstol," said Chrom, surprising himself. When had he begun to think of the silver-haired boy as one of his friends?

"I'll miss you, Henry," said Robin, ruffling his hair in a startlingly familiar gesture.

All too soon they were driving down the road again, Robin at the wheel, Chrom staring out the window absentmindedly.

"The Dragon's Table is pretty close to here. We should stop by and take a look before we get to my father's old house," she said. She glanced at him, but he was preoccupied with his thoughts, watching the scenery flash by. "Earth to Chrom. What're you thinking about?"

"The dream I had about Henry and a bunch of zombies," Chrom replied before he could stop himself.

Robin managed to tear her gaze away from the road for long enough to give him a scathing, judgement-filled look. "You," she said, "are a dork."

* * *

The Dragon's Table rose ominously out of the blowing sands, a huge stone plateau guarded by old statues of coiled, winged serpents. The desert wind rushed and blew fiercely, flinging stinging grains of sand into the air.

The Grimleal priests who had worshipped at the Table in ancient times might have been disgruntled to notice that there was a parking lot full of cars a little ways away from the giant stone platform, along with a small booth handing out audio guides.

"That's a big staircase," said Robin as the two of them eyed the winding stone steps up to the Table. Chrom rubbed the sand out of his eyes for the fifth time in ten minutes. There was a brief, thoughtful pause as they stared at the towering stairs.

"First one up gets to pick where we eat tonight," she said.

"Alright. Bye." And Chrom was sprinting up the stairs in a flash, laughing as he heard Robin's annoyed shout from below: "I didn't say start yet!"

Robin was the faster runner, but Chrom had far more stamina (they had discovered this a few weeks previously, when they'd had to sprint to the library before closing time). Although she overtook him initially, she eventually fell behind and he made it to the top with her panting at his heels. "Yes!" he hissed, throwing his arms in the air. A couple tourists stared at him.

"Cheater," said Robin, but she was quickly distracted by the sight of the Dragon's Table and the view of the desert wastelands around them. In the center of the circular stone platform, a metal statue had been erected, and Chrom quickly realized that it was of the Exalt he had been named after. He took a few steps forward and glanced down at the plaque. _CHROM, EXALTED,_ it said in bold letters.

"Amazing," he heard Robin mutter. She was wandering off to examine the intricate patterns carved into a pillar. "Are those eyes?"

Chrom was left to his own devices for a while and he gazed at the stone plateau, imaging the legendary battle the Shepherds had fought against a sinister spirit of darkness. He closed his eyes, imagining the epic battle the Shepherds had fought on this very soil. He was standing where history had been made, and he imagined the Exalt, his namesake, wielding the holy sword Falchion alongside the High Deliverer and their tomes of lightning. It must have been a grand sight, this historic battle, and what Chrom would have given to have been there, to see what they had seen, to know what the Exalt had felt at that moment—

— _GodsNOpleasedon'tleaveyoupromisedyouPROMISEDPLEASE—_

Chrom nearly fell over as a wave of some terrible, crushing emotion hit him. Grief? Desperation? Despair? And for a second the silence of the plateau had come alive with shouts and the ringing, metallic sound of clashing swords. His eyes shot open, his breath coming in short bursts, his nerves thrumming with energy as if he'd been running for miles. _What was that?_ He paused, looking around him nervously, almost expecting some specter from the past to spring up. But there was nothing there.

"Was that what you felt?" he whispered wonderingly into the wind. In the distance, the statue of the Exalt stared back at him somberly. "Why?"

"Chrom?"

Chrom nearly fell over in his surprise and turned to see Robin beside him, frowning. She stared at him in concern.

"You're crying," she said.

"No, I'm—" he reached up and touched his cheek to feel the wetness of a tear. When had he started to cry?

"Is it the wind? Agh, I'm sorry," Robin said, reaching up to rub at her eyes tiredly. "Plegia weather takes a little getting used to. Sorry I dragged you here."

"No," Chrom said suddenly, with such conviction that he surprised himself. Robin looked up at him and he gave her a strange smile. "I'm glad you're here with me."

She stared at him and eventually returned his smile. "It's amazing how you can say the cheesiest things with the most serious expression," she said. "But in all seriousness, I'm glad too. Now come on. I heard a tour guide say there's supposed to be more stuff from ancient Ylisse around here…"

* * *

Robin's house was old, but sturdy. It looked like generations had lived in its yellowing walls and grown up under its tiled wooden roof. It wasn't a very big house, but it wasn't small either—just the size to be called cozy. There was a dog chained up near the garden in the front yard, its black fur sleek and shining. It barked at the car as it pulled up.

"Wait in the car," Robin said.

"I can come with you if you'd like," said Chrom. It was fairly late, and the sunlight was fading as the sky darkened.

"No," she said, and sighed. "The rest of the family's already left. It's just my older sister, maybe my brother, in the house. I'm just gonna go in, pick up whatever they've got for me, and leave. It'll be quick."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm positive." She took a deep breath, poked him in the arm, and said, "don't eat all the Oreos while I'm gone."

"I would never!" Chrom protested. Robin had already opened the door and exited the car, laughing slightly. He relaxed a little, feeling slightly reassured that his presence was able to cheer her up. He watched her as she walked into the yard, giving the black dog an absent pat on the head, and up to the front door. She rang the doorbell and the door was opened by another silver-haired woman whose face Chrom couldn't see. There was a tense moment, then she stepped aside and Robin entered the house. The door swung shut.

Five minutes passed. Then ten minutes. Then fifteen. Chrom fiddled with his phone, ate all but three of the Oreos, stared at the intimidating black dog (which stared back), and tried to imagine what Robin's life was like when she was growing up. He wiped dust off the nooks and crannies in the car, cleaned up some of the wrappers lying around, and turned on some music (the silence was bothering him). He looked at his watch. It had been twenty-five minutes.

After he wasted a good amount of time going through every app on his phone, forty minutes had passed. Chrom, who had just promised himself that he would march up to the front door and ring the doorbell if Robin didn't come out after another five minutes, was relieved to see her exit the old house. She walked quickly, with a thoughtful expression on her face. In her hands was a battered box.

"I thought you'd been kidnapped," Chrom blurted out as she got into the car. She flashed him a quick smile. "I'm fine," she said, setting the box down. He took a closer look at it. It was made of wood and looked old, covered in carvings and faded paint. The designs were too abstract and worn-down for him to make out. "What's in the box?" he said.

"Dunno," said Robin, starting the car and flicking on the headlights.

"Don't you want to find out?" he said as casually as he could, even though he was dying to know what they'd driven so far to retrieve.

"I'm not in a hurry," said Robin, backing the car out of the driveway.

Chrom was overcome with a surprisingly immature urge to say _"I am!"_ , but he kept his mouth shut. Robin turned the music up louder and hummed along absently. "I'll open it when I get home," she said. "Are you hungry?"

"Yes, but—"

"Great. Let's find somewhere nice to eat. I'm tired of drive-thru food. We can stop by some local landmarks tomorrow."

They found a local restaurant that was open late. Robin insisted on forcing him to try Plegian food and he ended up liking it so much that he almost forgot about The Box. After they'd finished eating they began the long drive back, the stars glittering above in the black sky.

* * *

"You're alive!" Liz said as Chrom stomped through the doorway of their house, carrying his bag in his hand. He collapsed on the couch and groaned, stretching luxuriously. "Hey, Liz," he mumbled. After they'd picked up The Box from Robin's old house, they'd done a whirlwind tour of Plegia stopping by both highlights of the modern city and ancient landmarks from long-ago wars. He'd had more fun than he'd ever had in his life, but he was also ready to sleep for thirty hours straight.

Liz perched on the arm of the sofa, poking at him. "You wanna take a nap before dinner?"

"Yeah, yeah," said Chrom, rolling over and reaching into his bag. He unzipped it and pulled out a small parcel, tossing it at her. "This is for you." he said, closing his eyes.

Liz squealed. "Thank you!" she said, eagerly tearing it open. After a few minutes spent trying to undo the sticky tape (after which she gave in and went to the kitchen to fetch scissors), she managed to unwrap the present to reveal…

"Stop buying me new headbands and stuff—I told you, I like the buttons! They're cute!"

But Chrom was already asleep, snoring and oblivious to the world.

A few days passed. Chrom slept, did laundry, visited a few of his friends (and he did have friends other than Robin, despite what his sister said), and forgot about The Box. Until, that is, Robin called him one evening.

"Hello?" he said. "What's up—"

"I opened the box," she said.

Chrom marveled, for a second, at her marvelous sense of patience. If it had been him he would had torn open The Box less than five seconds after he'd gotten it. "Okay," he said, trying not to reveal how eager he was to know what was inside it. "What was inside?"

Robin paused. He could hear her rapid breathing over the phone. "Nothing much," she said, a strained, false casualness to her voice. "Just-just a book, some of his letters, a couple weird trading cards or—or something like that—" she laughed breathlessly, her voice growing shakier and shakier. "I don't even know why he kept all this stuff—no one in our family liked history but him and me. It's, it's really nothing, I don't know why I'm so—" and she was sobbing into the phone, gasping out breathless little sobs.

"Hey. Hey—" he said, trying not to panic and failing. "Robin, are you—" there was the sound of a dial tone as she hung up.

Chrom sprinted out his room, down the stairs and out the door, jumped into his car, and drove as fast as he could to Robin's apartment. The door was unlocked—unusually careless of her—and he barged inside. Robin was curled up on the couch, the wooden box open on the coffee table in front of her.

"Robin," he said, sitting carefully down next to her and resting a hand on her shoulder. She lifted her head—and she had been crying, the first time he'd seen her cry—and stared at him. "Did I forget to lock the door?" she said in a distant voice.

"Yeah," he said, pulling her into a hug. She sniffed and curled in upon herself.

Chrom glanced at the contents of the box, strewn over the surface of the table. She hadn't been lying—there was a dusty yellow book so old that most of the print had been worn away except for a vague shape on the cover that resembled a lightning bolt, a small stack of letters and research notes written in spidery script, two or three weird cards, and an old, faded, photograph. He leant over to take a look. The photograph showed a young girl in a hoodie with silver hair. Beside her was a sallow-skinned man with dark hair, resting his hand on her shoulder. Despite his stern appearance, he was smiling at the camera.

Robin and her father, then. They looked happy.

"I remember the last time I saw him," said Robin suddenly, her voice still hoarse from crying. "We argued. He—he didn't want me to move to Ylisstol, he wanted me to go into politics like him—I said no, we yelled—" she broke off. "There was other stuff too, but—I wish I'd—one last time—"

"I'm sorry," Chrom said.

"I—" Robin sucked in a huge gulp of air. "I miss him." she said, her voice quiet, defeated. "I really miss him." There was a long silence as the two of them sat there. Robin shivered occasionally as she tried to calm herself. Chrom stared out the window, wondering about death, and what came after, then looked back at the table when his thoughts grew too morbid.

An old book, some papers, a couple obscure trading cards (seriously, even Chrom hadn't known that they made _trading cards_ of _historic heroes_ ), and a photograph. That was all that was left of Robin's father, besides memories.

"Thanks," said Robin suddenly, gently pulling herself away.

"Are you okay?" he said, and regretted it immediately. A stupid question. Of course she wasn't okay.

"No, but I think I'm a bit better." she glanced at him and smiled a painful and strange little smile. "Thank you. I'm glad you were here with me."

* * *

A/N: Recently, I went to visit the grave of a family relative. It had me thinking about death a lot.

I really like this chapter and it took me forever. Please tell me what you think!


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